Destiny of the Bloodfiend

((The background story for my main character, Ghelgor Bloodfiend, taking him through the Warcraft 3 campaigns and beyond. I hope readers will enjoy! The story is still being worked on and new parts will be coming out as I find time and inspiration to write them. Feedback and comments are welcome. ))

Prologue: Ghelgor's Lethargy

The light receded from the room at an increasing rate as the hours passed, wandering over the floor and wall as if trying to escape through the ceiling. Had that been the case it wouldn't have been the least bit strange. This was a prison after all. The wooden building was one of several in the camp, all filled to the brim with Orcs, packed in like goods in a warehouse. There was little to no malcontent over the horrible living conditions however, as you'd expect, the prisoners either didn't care or were housed seperately due to crippling insanity. Ghelgor, belonging to the first group, sat in a corner of the building and followed the light's path up the wall. He wasn't sure why, but he felt it helped him keep some semblance of himself by focusing on something tangible and changing.

Many of his fellow prisoners of war had lost themselves to despair or insanity, a fate he intended to avoid at any cost. He thought often of how he would finally meet his end in this place, for escape was definitely out of the question. Even in these thoughts he realised he'd lost that which made him who he was. The old Ghelgor would never have admitted defeat without first lying in a pool of his own blood. He was not completely spared whatever curse hounded the rest of the Orcs. He would fight this curse for as long as it took for him to meet his end in a proper way, a desperate assault on the guards if need be. Any death would be better than wasting away in this stinking human-made hole.

But contrary to his strong and vivid thoughts, his body simply didn't care. It was happy to ignore the wishes and dreams swimming around inside it's mind. So Ghelgor sat in his corner, day in and day out, attentively following the light's journey. He had plenty of time to think of the past, for there would be no future to worry about. He was proud of his past, as most orcs were. Regrets were generally uncommon in their culture. Yet for all of his pride, he couldn't help but question his last major decision. It had been an impossible decision to make, both options being equally good and bad.

His family, or his clan. That had been the question. A question he never imagined he would be faced with. When his father and brother had come to him and announced they were leaving the clan, he'd lashed out at them, called them traitors and cowards, disowned them even. He blamed his father the most, his brother simply chose the other of the two equal evils. Ghelgor just couldn't understand how his father, one of the most feared and powerful warriors in all the clans, could flee to the hills like a peon. His mastery over Mannoroth's gift had been unrivaled by anyone in his clan, the Twilight Hammer, maybe only surpassed by that of Hellscream himself. This earning him the name Bloodfiend, a name Ghelgor was looking forward to inheriting when that time came. But what was the name worth now? The name of a traitor.

But despite his loyalty to his clan, he could not bring himself to expose the plans of his family, instead turning a blind eye as they escaped the camp unnoticed. He then followed his clan on their journey, even though it took them away from the war. It didn't make sense to Ghelgor, but he was a warrior, he trusted that his Chief knew what he was doing. Not long after, Ghelgor and several others were attacked by humans while scouting and the survivors were taken as prisoners. And so Ghelgor ended up where he now only wished he'd been killed.

He'd heard bits and pieces of the guards' conversations over the last few days, and there were news of internment camps falling, liberating the orcs housed within. He didn't put much faith in those news, he didn't have any faith to put anywhere anyway. But still, as he stared at the last patch of light near the ceiling, Ghelgor smiled as he dreamed of once again joining his fellows in glorious battle against deserving foes.

Part One: The Journey Begins

The way out of lethargy is a difficult one, and not something magically achieved by the arrival of a timely hero. The New Horde was nothing but a collection of pathetic excuses for orcs. Ghelgor counted himself among these excuses, he had failed so many times yet here he was, on a ship sailing west towards who knew what. He was no stranger to the sea, but this was not a gentle one. It seemed to possess a mind of its own, waves crashing into the small armada of stolen human ships like weapons. It was clear the sea didn't want them there, but still they sailed on, they weren't more unwanted here than they'd been in the east. So what did the will of the sea matter. Nothing but a nuisance to Ghelgor, as yet another spray of water hit his face, the taste of salt a bitter wake up call from his daydreaming. He grunted at the sea in general before leaving his posting at the fore of the ship, heading down into its belly.

The main room was filled with orcs, packaged for the journey, they huddled together in groups as much as was possible in the small space. This was the New Horde, but the factions were clear. Most were clan-based, a few others were based around bonds of other natures, family, friendship and what else they could come up with. Orcs were not a solitary race, they needed to belong. And so did Ghelgor, but there was no group in this room for him. He walked the maze of orcs until he reached the corner he had taken as his turf, sitting down heavily. Ignoring the rest of the room to the best of his ability, he set about cleaning his new suit of armour, given to him by the blacksmiths of the New Horde. Maybe they thought a new outer shell would contain the inner weakness and speed the recovery process. Ghelgor didn't care, he needed armour to fight so he took it. But this armour, and the axe also given to him, meant nothing to him. They were tools. To fight, in the way he was taught as a boy, tools just didn't cut it. The armour needed to be like a second skin, the weapon like an extension of the arm. It's easy to rip off a piece of clothing or disarm someone, it's a whole different thing to flay someone or chop their arm off.

As he cleaned his armour and mourned the loss of his previous skin and arm, his thoughts drifted to his self-imposed solitude. He could have been with his family right now, but he had chosen not to. As the horde gathered by the ships, he had seen his brother and father for the first time since they'd left the clan and Ghelgor had disowned them. He saw them see him, acknowledge him as a brother, as a son, but in his pride he had looked away and deliberately chosen a different ship than them. He knew he'd have to come to terms with his family eventually, one way or another, but it could wait until they arrived wherever it was they were going. If they even made it there.

A sharp kick in the side stopped Ghelgor in his drone-like cleaning, he grunted and looked up at the figure of a female orc standing over him. She was only slightly shorter than him, and with a build that showed she was at least equal in strength. Ghelgor let out a low growl and frowned.

"What was that good for?"

The female smirked and shrugged, her long brown hair draping her chest and back in several braids.

"The armour is clean. You can stop now."

Ghelgor snorted and casually shoved the suit of armour to the side, turning his attention to a piece of dried meat he'd been saving. The female sat down next to him, leaning her head against the wall. Ghelgor wanted to tell her to go find her own spot, but his pride was overcome by his loneliness and he quietly continued eating his meat. He glanced at the female, she seemed to be asleep but her eyes were open. He noted her attractive features, the nose in particular, it had been broken at some point, yet healed in a way that made it look like an improvement. And to Ghelgor it was a sign that this female was a fighter. The breasts weren't bad either.

"Did you want something?"

Startled, Ghelgor returned to chewing on the dried meat with a vengeance. The female laughed, a deep sound that didn't seem like something that would come out of that body. She turned her head to look at him, not letting him escape the situation.

"Well?"

Ghelgor sighed and looked at her, he wasn't sure what to make of her but she was his first real social interaction since before the internment camps, he should make the most of it.

"Just wondering who you are, and why you sat down here."

"Call me Neda. And this is as good a place as any to sit down. You must agree, you're sitting here too."

Ghelgor shrugged, talking had never been one of his strong points. If this Neda wanted to sit there, who was he to say no, this wasn't his ship. And he could think of worse neighbours on the trip.

"I'm Ghelgor, son of Gandrak."

Neda nodded.

"You're Bloodfiend's son."

"You know my father?"

Ghelgor frowned, he wasn't sure what answer he wanted. He could get news of his father if she knew him, but then again she might have been sent to spy on him on his father's behalf.

"I do, I am of the Frostwolf clan. Your father and brother came to us some time ago. They had left their own clan."

"I know that all too well..."

Neither one of them said anything for a long time, Ghelgor was mulling over the events that tore him from his family. Who knew what Neda was thinking, she once again looked like she was sleeping with her eyes open. Finally, she decided to break the silence.

"They miss you."

"Then they shouldn't have left."

"I'm not speaking for your family, simply informing you of my own observations."

Ghelgor wasn't ready for this yet. When the time came he'd deal with this, but not yet. And he was in no mood to discuss family matters with a stranger.

"I don't know you enough to discuss these things even if I wanted to discuss them."

Neda smiled enigmatically, like only females can, and nodded. Ghelgor noticed that her eyes seemed to look through him somehow. He felt uncomfortable and vulnerable, like she was stripping away both his outer and inner defences. Perhaps she noticed his feelings, turning away from him and staring at nothing in particular. He welcomed the reprieve, settling down to get some rest. He'd had all the social interaction he could stomach for this day. The waves continued their assault on the ship, but Ghelgor had gotten used to it well enough to sleep. Before he fell asleep, he could feel Neda's piercing eyes on him.

Part Two: The Darkspear Islands

The days passed slowly on the ship, the only event worthy of notice was if a larger than normal wave hit them. The conditions for the seafaring orcs deteriorated at an alarming rate, despite rigid schedules for food and water. Still, no one complained. Maybe they were all still too lethargic to care. Ghelgor chewed his ration very slowly, savouring the minute trace of taste from the dried meat, he wouldn't get more in quite a while. Neda ate with him, as she had since they met. It wasn't clear to him why this strange female had taken such a liking to him, but he was quickly growing accustomed to her company. He tried not to get too comfortable though, she might still have ulterior motives regarding his family. He didn't like the idea of outsiders getting involved. She'd spoken of them a few times, what they'd been doing and saying, how they'd been accepted into the Frostwolf clan. He wasn't sure what to think of it all, to him they were traitors and deserters, but then again so were the Frostwolf clan as a whole. That was the past though, the past of a Horde that no longer existed, none of it mattered any more. Everyone was on equal footing, given a new start. So why couldn't he give his family that?

"Brooding again?"

Ghelgor looked at Neda and snorted, she was smiling. She of course hadn't experienced the lethargy, for better or worse. It was refreshing though, an upbeat island in a sea of apathy.

"Perhaps. Not much else to do around here."

As in defiance to his statement, the alarm sounded, land had been sighted. The orcs in the room rose to their feet in unison and tried to the best of their ability to push their way outside. As Ghelgor reached the deck, the fresh air felt strange compared to the musky stench of the hold, but the sight of an island chain soon numbed his other senses. Finally, something was going to happen. His ship didn't have the honour of making first landfall, that right was the Warchief's, but when he set foot on the wet soil, all the waiting seemed worth it. Was this their new home? If so, they'd be hard-pressed for living space. It was an exotic place with thick vegetation and tall palm trees, the sun baked the beach with a relentless heat and in the distance he could see a volcano. He noticed Neda running up to him, clad in her weathered leather armour, clearly agitated.

"Ghelgor! Thrall's been abducted!"

"What? What happened?"

Neda growled, a low rumble shaking her earlier optimism.

"Murlocs... Murlocs! Of all things... They swarmed his escorts and dragged them all off into the jungle. I followed them but I couldn't find a trace of them. There's something sinister helping them."

"Someone's organising a search and rescue as we speak?"

"Yes, they're coordinating their efforts with the trolls. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, there are trolls here. Not forest trolls though. Their leader was taken as well."

Ghelgor rubbed his chin, this was a lot to take in. Thrall abducted, trolls working with the Horde again, he knew this island had been too good to be true. The pair turned their eyes inland as the sounds of battle were carried to them. Ghelgor loosened the straps on the axe on his back, setting off in the direction of the battle. Neda was quick to follow, and quicker in running past him in her light armour, her braids flowing behind her like a mane. Out of habit, Ghelgor sought the strength of Mannoroth for the coming battle, but found a now familiar void instead. Shaking off the worst of the following apathy, he focused on Neda, making sure to keep up.

The battle was not going well, their adversaries may have only been puny murlocs but they fought as though fearing their master's whip. No one fled or faltered, a battle frenzy most commendable for their kind. Neda stopped and pulled out what seemed to be a gauntlet with steel claws attached to it, slipping it onto her right hand. She rolled her shoulders back and roared, her muscles rippling as she charged into battle. At that moment she was the most beautiful thing Ghelgor had ever seen, poetry in motion. He cursed his wandering mind as he barely managed to deflect a murloc blade aiming for his throat. The gurgling beast recovered with amazing speed and leapt at him, only to be struck down in mid-air by a lightning strike. Ghelgor looked around, trying to find the source, and saw Neda turning away from him and charging another murloc. Couldn't have been her though...

The trolls looked different than the ones he'd fought side by side with previously, but they fought with the same primal fury and prowess. With their help, the tide of the battle started to turn as more and more reinforcements from the beach arrived. Ghelgor roared as he swung his axe, severing a squishy head from its murloc body, sending it flying triumphantly into the air. He lived for these moments. High on adrenaline, he spun around, searching for another target. With great effort, he tossed his large axe in the direction of an unsuspecting murloc. The murloc gurgled and collapsed with Ghelgor's axe lodged in its back. He felt something wet hit his own back and stumbled forwards, grabbing at whatever was back there. Managing to get a hold of a slippery leg, he yanked the murloc off his back, flung it on the ground and crushed its head with his boot. Ghelgor looked up, just in time to get hit in the eye by a small rock, most likely thrown by yet another murloc. He took a couple of steps backwards and struggled to regain balance and focus before one of those murloc blades could kill him off, that would have been such a sad end.

Frantically looking around with blurry vision, he could see little, but he heard the cheering warriors. The battle was over for now. He sighed and slumped down on the ground, thankful that the battle had taken place inland and not on the beach. Sand is a pain to get out of the chain-mail links. He was in good shape except for his right eye, which was by now quite swollen, just a few more scratches and cuts to add to his collection. With his good eye he could make out someone walking towards him.

"Ah you survived I see."

Neda grinned, crossing her arms in front of her chest. The clawed gauntlet was nowhere to be seen. She knelt down in front of Ghelgor and inspected his battered eye. Relying on his other senses when deprived of his sight, he could smell blood on her, both orc and murloc. She'd charged into the thick of battle like a beast, it is understandable that she'd get plenty of trophies. Ghelgor's own performance left much to be desired, at least from his point of view. His reactions were slow and sluggish. Perhaps it could be attributed to the lethargy, the time spent in the internment camps, or maybe he'd simply allowed himself to trust in Mannoroth's power to the point of having lost touch with his own. With practice, he'd be back to his old self in no time. He didn't speak as Neda inspected him, happy instead to let her work.

"It's not as bad as it looks. I can probably fix it up, although it may be uncomfortable, healing was never one of my talents."

Ghelgor startled as a warm and tingling sensation spread around his eye, making his face itch. As the discomfort increased, he could slowly open more and more of his eye, until he could finally see clearly what was happening. Neda was kneeling in front of him, busy channeling energy. The green hazy light emanating from her hands didn't blind him, despite the fact that it was directed straight at his eye. Her eyes were closed and her expression strangely emotionless, with a slight frown forming. It was clear that she was struggling to heal him. When she finally stopped and looked at him, the residual energy tinted her brown eyes green for a moment. Ghelgor wasn't sure what to say or do. Neda was a Shaman, something he could barely remember from his childhood on Draenor. A position of high status in the New Horde. Confused, he acted on instinct, bowing his head.

"Thank you, Shaman."

Neda laughed her deep laugh, flicking him on the forehead.

"In skills and upbringing perhaps, but not in title. You can stop toadying."

Ghelgor did his best to hide his insecurity about the issue as he stood up, dusting himself off and checking the mobility of his now healed eye by scanning the tree line for any straggler murlocs.

"So what is your title then, if not Shaman? To me you seem to be as much a Shaman as Thrall."

"I wasn't happy with the direction my mentors were taking me, so I stopped my training. I'm just a warrior of the Horde, like you. Although with a different set of skills, granted..."

Ghelgor didn't force the issue further, he was more than happy to accept the fact that she was not a Shaman. The idea that she wouldn't be his equal in social rank had upset him more than it should have. Still, he knew there was more to the story than that. Neda had walked up to him while he'd been thinking, and stared at him with those piercing eyes. He didn't have to see her to know she was staring at him, he could feel it. Ghelgor shivered and turned towards her.

"Enough about that then... We need to get our Warchief back as soon as possible."

Part Three: The Sea Witch

Ghelgor ripped his axe from the unfortunate murloc's back and sniffed its edge, stained with the slimy greenish-blue goo that passed for the creature's blood. It was an unpleasant odour, but it stung less than some other kinds of blood he'd encountered. Grabbing a few tufts of grass from the ground, he wiped the weapon clean and fastened it firmly in the harness on his back. There'd be more fighting ahead, but for now the area seemed clear. The orcs and trolls present on the field of battle were searching the bodies for their arrows, throwing axes and whatever else they'd used in the fray. Neda and a few others like her searched for wounded, healing the ones they could and easing the passing of the ones they couldn't. Neda mostly aided the efforts of the other healers, she had struggled to heal his eye and the wounds she now cared for were far worse. He caught a glimpse of a big and burly orc almost entirely reconstructing a wounded warrior's leg from the bone out. He didn't know what to think, it'd been so long since he'd experienced shamanism to this degree. He distrusted magic, but this was not like the magic he had come to know during the first wars. Still, nothing done without the strength of your own muscles could be trusted completely.

Some of the orcs who'd been on Thrall's ship told him that they'd encountered humans on the island before the ambush and the murlocs. It angered Ghelgor that he'd missed that battle, humans were a far more enjoyable foe than measly murlocs. But they'd been destroyed to the last man, so no use thinking about it. The trolls spoke in a strange tongue and he didn't bother trying to understand them, but since they'd become allies, Thrall must have been able to speak with them somehow. If only they'd get on their way and rescue the Warchief so they could get off this sorry excuse for a new home and continue the journey.

The palm trees rustled in the distance, the swaying branches caught the attention of every able warrior on the field. The rustling grew closer, travelling through the jungle like a large beast. The sound of weapons being drawn preceded the strong voice from the tree-line.

"Get the ships ready, we're leaving! Now!"

Thrall came bursting out from the jungle, followed by a small contingent of orcs and trolls. Everyone acted on instinct and rushed towards the ships. Ghelgor looked behind him as he ran, at the horde of murlocs swarming out from the jungle. They acted in unison, like a single being, with a grim determination. He found himself thinking of the creatures with respect, but something told him they didn't act like this out of their own free will, they were cowardly at heart after all. As the warriors reached the ships, Thrall ordered some on board to make ready to sail, while the rest stood firm to hold off the murlocs. Ghelgor held his axe in front of him, controlling his breathing as he prepared for battle. Their numbers were small compared to the enemy, but they would not be defeated. The wall of fish-men came towards them like the waves that'd harassed them at sea, and it would crash against them and fade away much the same. With a roar, Thrall threw a lightning bolt into the mass of murlocs, sending bodies flying up into the air and back against their friends, who quickly trampled them to death. The rest of the warriors, Ghelgor included, mimicked their warchief's roar and charged the now disorganized enemy front.

Ghelgor swung his axe in wide sweeps, there was little need to aim in this mass of enemies. The sand seemed to work for the murlocs as the proud orcs and trolls fought to stand firmly. The light, webbed feet of the fish-men ran and jumped across it with ease, letting them surround and outflank the warriors. Ghelgor roared as a murloc blade sunk in under his right shoulder pad. He turned around, his eyes having taken on a reddish tint, and grabbed the offending fish-man by the throat with his free hand, crushing it. He couldn't hear the rewarding gurgle over the sounds of battle, but he had no time for it either, more murlocs swarmed towards him from all directions. He resumed his sweeping, but the wound to his shoulder would not let him keep it up forever. The adrenaline pumping through his veins fuelled him and helped him ignore the pain. As the battle dragged on, the warriors found their position strengthened, they could stand on the numerous corpses instead of the sand, giving them far greater control. A spray of hot orc blood hit Ghelgor's face as a murloc jumped and sank its blade into a nearby warrior's throat. Through a gap in the enemy ranks, he caught a glimpse of a being of some sort. It hovered a few inches off the ground and had an appearance reminiscent of the elves. The being used magic against the warriors and seemed to drive the murlocs on, this was the master he'd suspected.

He roared and charged through the ranks towards the elven sorcerer, as he drew nearer he could see that the being was almost transparent. He jumped at it with his axe held high, ready to strike, but was swiftly hit by a chock-wave of some kind and sent flying back the way he came. Crashing into several murlocs, he struggled to his feet. His axe was nowhere to be seen. He once again reminded himself that tools just weren't enough, he would never have dropped his old axe. Several murlocs jumped him, slashing at him with their blades. He averted as many as he could with his bracers, but far too many hit their mark, slashing him across the arms and chest. He managed to grab a slimy arm and break it, catching the blade as it fell from the limp hand. The blade was small for an orc, but it was better than nothing and allowed him some protection. He parried and lunged at the murlocs, but the battle was dragging on for too long, he couldn't go on like this. He'd already switched the blade to his left hand as his right arm grew too weak to use it effectively. Thrall's voice broke through the barrage of sounds, the order to retreat onto the ships was finally given. The surviving warriors scrambled towards the ships, the murlocs following close behind. Ghelgor barely managed to keep his balance on the plank leading up to the deck. Several murlocs started climbing the hull of the ship as it drifted away from the shore, gaining speed, but they were swiftly dealt with by the relatively fresh warriors on board. The strange sorcerer stood on the shore, shouting threats of doom, as the island erupted in volcanic activity.

The murlocs, growing smaller by the second, scrambled around on the shore, many diving into the water to escape the turbulent upheaval. On the ship, Ghelgor slumped down on the deck, leaning against the railing. He let the spray of the sea slowly wash the blood from his face as he scanned the survivors for Neda. He hadn't seen her since before the battle, but he was sure she could take care of herself, she had powers beyond his understanding. Finally he spotted her, as a healer walked away from her to tend to the next warrior in need. She stood up and walked towards him, sitting down next to him on the deck. She had several wounds, although most were completely healed, leaving only a mark that would either disappear or become yet another scar. He looked at them with admiration. She looked at his wounds, like he'd looked at hers, and smiled. They didn't say anything, the battle had said enough for both of them.

The waves started their assault on the ships again, their true destination was still ahead of them. The leader of the trolls had been slain, and now his son pledged allegiance to the warchief. At least something had come out of the disastrous landing. Ghelgor closed his eyes and waited for the healer to get around to him.

Part Four: A Narrow Escape

The sound of waves caressing a beach wormed its way inside Ghelgor's mind, soon followed by that of sea birds. His body heaved in a series of deep coughs, trying to get the sand and water out of his system. With a jerk, he pushed himself up off the sand and looked around, still coughing. The landscape seemed desolate, sparse vegetation and a few palm trees along the coast. He wiped his face and stood up on unsteady legs, feeling dizzy he soon had to lean against a palm to keep himself upright. The last thing he could remember was the screaming from below deck, and then the ship started sinking. Slowly at first, but as it picked up speed it tossed him overboard before disappearing below the waves. How long had he been lying here? His mouth was dry and saturated with the taste of salt and sand, he needed water. Bracing himself against the dizziness, he let go of the palm and stumbled as fast as he could along the beach, searching for any usable debris.

Wood drifted on the calm waves, lone planks and bigger chunks of hull. After a few minutes, the bodies started appearing. The once proud orcish warriors bobbed up and down in the water, their destinies being cut short by the forces of nature. Ghelgor looked away, frowning at their cruel fate. He had narrowly escaped his greatest fear; a meaningless death. His vision started going blurry, it felt like the sun was growing bigger and bigger, its edges blurred until it seemed to inhabit the entire sky. Ahead of him, he could hear voices. Figures rushed in his direction. He reached for his axe, but found nothing there. Very well then, he'd fight off the scavengers with his bare hands. He was no stranger to that sort of combat, being an orc.

He roared hoarsely and ran to meet his adversaries head on. The sand felt like ice, as he tripped and stumbled in his charge, but he was determined to go down fighting. Blurry movement in front of him, and he measured a punch right at it. His target fell backwards, groaning. As he looked around for the rest of them, someone grabbed his arms from behind and pulled them back. Ghelgor responded instinctively by whipping his head back. His arms were freed, but the whipping and subsequent blow to his head had not helped his dizziness. He fell like a rock down on the sand, face first. The voices chattered incoherently around him as he slowly fell away from the waking world.

The taste of water awakened him and he spluttered and coughed before being able to swallow it. His surroundings were still blurry, but he could make out that he was being offered the drink by an orc. "Neda?" he asked hopefully. But the orc shook his head and continued to help Ghelgor drink. "No one here by that name. Just concentrate on getting water in you." The voice was clearly that of a male orc, Ghelgor's vision must have been blurrier than he thought. He focused on the flask of water, ignoring his mistake in observation.

The flask ran dry and the orc left to go sit by the nearby fire. Ghelgor could see the Warsong Clan banner fluttering in the breeze near the warriors huddled by the fire, two of them had bloody noses. Oh well... Suddenly everything started to spin again. He leaned his head back to rest on the rock face he was propped up against. Even when he closed his eyes, he could sense the world spinning around madly. There was no time for this, battles were being fought and won without him as he sat like a useless lump of flesh. And what about Neda? She'd been on his ship, surely she must have washed up on the same beach, or at least close by. And... what about his father and brother? Maybe their ship had fared better. Then again, maybe he didn't care. He once more had to remind himself that they had betrayed him and their clan. Bah, it didn't matter, he was in no state to fight now anyway. He grudgingly allowed himself to drift into a shallow and troubled sleep.

Part Five: Clanless No More

The ragged band of warriors had marched through the barren wasteland for days, fighting off the hostile inhabitants as they went. The land was unforgiving, not a trace of water since they left the coast. Yellow plains and mountains surrounded them, and despite the apparent lack of water, there was an abundant wildlife. The band hunted and ate as they walked, there was no time for rest, or for making fires. If they didn't find water soon, they'd be dead. Ghelgor walked beside the Warsong banner, trying to take strength from it. His condition had improved, but he was hardly at peak performance. He looked scruffy, walking along the dusty trail wearing a torn and broken set of chainmail armour scavenged from the coastal wreckage. He held a short sword casually in his right hand, it was all the survivors could scrounge up. As they approached the base of a tall mountain, a famous roar echoed down the valleys and out over the fields behind them. Somewhere up ahead was Grom Hellscream.

The invigorated group of orcs ran towards the mountain, using whatever reserves they had to keep up the pace. Ghelgor's mood lifted as the orc base appeared over a small hill. The clash of metal against metal, and the battlecries of the Warsong Clan, signalled that battle was underway. The orc forces were locked in combat with... humans. There was no escaping the pink wretches. Ghelgor grunted as he ran, digging deep inside him for any remaining strength that would allow him to make a glorious stand against the pinkskins. When he was close enough, he threw his pathetic sword at the enemy ranks, diving into the fray soon after it. With his characteristic rage, he tore into the humans in his path, catching them off guard as they were focused on the Warsong battleline. He used his body as a weapon, ripping, punching, and tackling anyone he could reach. He got hold of a human's throat and grinned madly as he ripped a large chunk out of it, tossing it in its former owner's face. Stepping on and over the corpse, he ran at another human shoulder first, hitting him right in the chest. The impact sent them both to the ground, Ghelgor landing on top of the human. The human's small blue pig-eyes looked straight into Ghelgor's red tinted ones as he crushed its head with several heavy blows from his fists. As he got back up from the ground, the consequences of ramming heavy plate with his unprotected shoulder became obvious, the pain throbbed outwards up his neck and down his back.

Ghelgor found his charges lacking in the speed and ferocity that was required for them to be efficient, the pain crippled his already weakened body. He was forced to act defensively, dodging blows and beating away sword-arms, but his weakness soon toppled him. Several human swords found their way to their marks, slashing him over the chest and piercing his side. With a thump inaudible in the chaos around him, Ghelgor hit the ground, sending a cloud of fine dust swirling up around him. It was pretty, he thought, not the worst image to see before one's death. A shadow fell over him, obscuring the dust particles, as a plated boot came crashing down on his face.

Images floated just out of reach, taunting him with promises of better times, easier times. Times spent with his family, when everything was simple. He stretched out his arms, but the apparitions simply floated further away. Suddenly, his body spasmed as a jolt of energy went through it, the images blurring and dissipating as smoke. The darkness was shattered by another jolt, throwing his eyes open, almost blinding him. His heartbeat filled his ears, each beat sending spasms through his body. He coughed, his rasping breath filling the void in his lungs. Against the blinding light, he saw a familiar face slowly coming into focus.

"What have you done to your face? It looks worse than usual." Neda smirked and gently ran her fingers over the fractures on his face. "I'd happily heal these for you, but pulling you back from the edge took all the strength I had." Ghelgor tried to grin, but the pain was unbearable. He reached up with his relatively unharmed left arm and touched Neda's cheek. With much effort, he managed to make a sound as close to "Thank you" as was possible. Neda put her hand on his and smiled her special smile. Ghelgor felt like he'd been healed again, just knowing she was still alive. He didn't want to let go of her. "I'll get you another healer, someone with larger energy reserves. Just hang in there." Neda put his hand back down to rest on his chest and stood up to get the attention of a healer. Ghelgor looked around as well as he could from his position and saw orcs rummaging the battlefield for wounded, dead and loot. It appeared that they'd won the battle. Among the tabards and banners were now also those of the Frostwolves and several others, the main force must have reached them as the battle was raging.

As the new healer went to work on fixing the worst of his facial damage, Ghelgor focused on Neda standing over them. Her brown braids moved graciously in the wind, mesmerising him and taking his mind off the pain. She didn't say anything, just stood there watching, her arms crossed over her chest. The healer stood up and inspected his work, before shrugging and moving on to the next patient. Ghelgor tried out his face by doing a few grimaces, the skin felt tighter than usual, as if it would break if he smiled too widely. "Neda..." It felt strange to speak, even if he didn't count the pain. "I'm glad you're safe. I thought you'd perished in the wreckage." He struggled to his feet, aided by Neda. "And I thought the same about you. I'm glad to see we were both wrong." She smiled and kissed him on the forehead. Ghelgor shivered with delight, he wanted to stay but there was something he needed to do. He told Neda he'd be right back and headed towards the main group of Warsong orcs.

Pushing and shoving his way towards the centre of the group, he found the orc he'd been searching for. He stood up straight and beat his chest in salute, bowing his head to show greater respect. "Great Chieftain. I am clanless, will you accept this warrior into your clan?" Grom Hellscream eyed Ghelgor for some time before nodding. "Urgok, take this grunt and make sure he's fit for battle the next time we take on the humans." The orc presumably known as Urgok pulled Ghelgor aside and off towards the base. He looked up at the banners hanging over the entrance to the barracks, he was a Warsong now.

Part Six: Interlude

The landscape shifted from brown to green as the Warsong Clan made its way north to the forests. The Warchief, displeased with Hellscream's enthusiasm, had ordered them to build an outpost there and supply the Horde with much needed lumber. They moved at a respectable pace, considering there was no battle awaiting them, but slowly for a Horde warband. As for the decision itself, Ghelgor could only assume there was some sort of animosity between the Warchief and his Chief. In Ghelgor's eyes, the humans stood in the way of the Warchief's plan either way, Hellscream's attacks hadn't changed anything. But politics wasn't his area of expertise, the decision had been made and the orders given. So now the fiercest warrior clan of the Horde, renowned heroes of past wars, marched to cut down trees. Thankfully, Ghelgor had no obligation to like the orders he followed.

Instead of brooding and grumbling, like he usually spent his days, he'd taken the opportunity offered by the slow march to make up for lost time with Neda. She'd been given leave to go with the Warsongs, after some persuasion. She was good at that. They talked as they marched, about trivial matters mostly. Sometimes she'd explain a bit about how life had been like in the Frostwolf clan during all those years in exile from the Horde. It was hard to take in, it was so different from his own experience during those years. For him, there had been only war, betrayal and defeat. But he listened intently and did his best to understand.

They spent the nights together under the starry sky, the patterns on high being the only familiar thing in the new world. For every day that passed by, Ghelgor's mood changed. He started smiling more and more, something he hadn't done in years, even before the lethargy. To his own surprise, he often found himself thinking about the future, and not with apathy but with anticipation. He thought about what would happen once the Horde's new home was established and the humans were hunted down and eradicated. Maybe he'd settle down, lay down his axe, start a family. When these thoughts went through his head, his eyes drifted towards Neda. After their reunion, they'd gotten closer than ever. He couldn't imagine himself being alone ever again, being without her. It scared him, feeling so dependent on someone. It was weakness, he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. For better or worse, he would stay with her until the end.

As another day's sun reached its highest point in the sky, the mountains that had towered in front of them for some time gave way slightly to reveal a pass. On the other side beckoned the forest, massive and unspoiled. More than enough lumber to supply the Horde for the foreseeable future. As the warband passed the threshold and were enveloped by the shadows of the canopy, Ghelgor couldn't shake the feeling that there was something very wrong with this particular forest.

Part Seven: Blood and Lumber

The rain trickled sporadically onto the roof of the crude bunker from the canopy up high, the irregularity of the sound kept everyone on edge. The work with the lumber camp went agonisingly slow, even before the blasted warrior women started attacking them. Still, they'd been a welcome surprise on what had promised to be the dullest assignment in the war so far. Ghelgor and several other grunts were on guard duty in one of the bunkers spread out over the main encampment, always watching for more attacks. It was usually futile, the cowardly warrior women attacked under cover of darkness, catching them by surprise every time. They'd beaten back the attacks so far, but with each raid they lost more and more workers. If this kept up, eventually they'd be too few to carry on the mission, and be forced to retreat. This filled Ghelgor with rage, a retreat was bad enough, but against foes this cowardly it was a disgrace.

Neda had been with him during the first few days, but was summoned to aid the Warsong Shamans after the attacks started. He hadn't seen more than a few glimpses of her since then, they were planning something big no doubt. Maybe they'd find a way to stop the night, so he could go out and find those skulking critters and finish them off. He longed for a proper battle, instead of sitting around in damp bunkers. He dried his face off with a ragged piece of cloth and looked out of the window, scanning the tree line for signs of danger. The day was drawing to a close, and soon the attacks would start again.

As the last rays of sunlight fled from the canopy, the forest seemed to come alive with sound. Knowing what was to come, the workers fled towards the encampments. Massive glaives sliced through the air, hitting the deforested dirt violently. An unfortunate peon got his leg chopped off by a glaive that bounced on the ground, his deep and pained roar instantly muffled by the sound of more glaives pummelling the encampments. Whatever threw these weapons had not been spotted yet, the only defence so far had been to hide. None of this was new to Ghelgor, and he sat unflinching watching the carnage in front of him. He could do nothing until the true assault began.

Something was different this night, however. In the distance, he could see smoke rising from the furthest encampments. The warrior women's assaults were breaking through. The highest ranked grunt in the bunker sent a runner to the command tent to inform the Chieftain about the situation. Ghelgor poked his head out slightly from the window, trying to hear the strange sounds being carried by the damp air. It was a voice, booming and deep, but he couldn't understand what it was saying. Another plume of smoke arose, this time a lot closer to their position. Things were going very wrong.

Bursting in from outside, the runner informed the group of warriors that the Chieftain had requested any available grunts for a special task. Ghelgor immediately stood up and marched outside, picking up the pace as he exited. Arrows whistled past him as he ran, the warrior women were starting their assault. He caught glimpses of bodies moving along the tree line, but they were keeping their distance for now. The command tent was bustling with frantic activity, warriors and shamans preparing for whatever it was they were supposed to be doing. Neda grabbed him and pulled him to the side, giving him a worried look. "Are you alright?" Ghelgor smiled slightly and responded with a quick nod. "A little rain hasn't killed anyone." Neda shook her head and frowned, looking back at the gathering orcs and trolls. "We're under attack from a powerful being, unlike anything we've faced before. With his help, the very forests themselves have attacked and sacked the outlying encampments. Our weapons are useless against him..." Her face showed even more worry as she turned back to Ghelgor. He frowned and gently took hold of her arms. "We can defeat any foe, the Chieftain's got a plan hasn't he? Why else would he have summoned us?" Neda nodded slowly. "A plan, yes... The troll Witch Doctors have sensed a source of great power emanating from somewhere within the forest. They've convinced Hellscream to go searching for it, and use it to defeat our enemy."

Ghelgor studied Neda for a few seconds before speaking again. "You don't like this plan, do you?" She softly sighed and shook her head. "I don't know, it just feels wrong. Some of the other shaman feel it too. But what are we supposed to do? It's this or die." Ghelgor forced a smile. "Then it's settled." Neda tilted her head and smirked at him. "Are things always so simple for you?" He grinned and nodded. "I've yet to find a good reason to make things more complicated than they are." Pushing his arms away, Neda moved forward to kiss him. He embraced her, revelling in the moment, shutting out the looming doom for a few precious seconds. Soon, the expedition would be on it's way.

Part Eight: Loyalty Above All Else

The sound of battle could be heard very clearly now, from the main encampment behind them. The forest was unwelcoming and did whatever it could to bar their path, but going back was not an option. The ragged party of orcs and trolls trudged through the damp undergrowth with a grim determination. Animals and the trees themselves regularly attacked them, Ghelgor's axe and armour were dripping with blood kept wet by the heavy air. Instinctively, he cut off a branch that jutted out as if intending to spear him. He cast an eye in Neda's direction to see how she was. Her clawed gauntlets were wet with blood but she seemed fine.

The Witch Doctors led the party ever deeper into the forest, the creatures they faced became more and more exotic the further they went. Walking bears and other strange beings, all intent on their utter destruction. But they were nearing their goal, that much was obvious from the excited expressions on the Witch Doctors' faces as they spoke with Hellscream. Maybe after the next bend of the shallow river, or over the next sharp hill, the hope of reaching the mystical font of power kept morale high. As the party crossed the shallow river yet again, they were met by a group of hideous creatures. Seemingly a cross-breed between stinking elves and goats, by their very existence they were begging for the mercy of death. Ghelgor raised his axe and readied himself for battle once more.

The apparent leader of the abominations spewed threats at Hellscream, stating they were guardians of this place and that we were unworthy of the gift it bestowed. With expected zeal, Hellscream paid no heed to the words of warning and charged at the leader with a furious roar. Ghelgor and the rest of the party soon followed suit. Some of the creatures had weapons, swords and the like, while some fought only with their curved and vicious claws. One of them leapt at Ghelgor like a feline predator, claws ready to tear him limb from limb and its face contorted by primal rage. Blocking an incoming sword lunge from the opposite direction with his axe, Ghelgor had no choice but to fend off the raving creature with his bare hand, catching it by the throat to stop its advance. The creature dug its claws into his arm gleefully, making him roar in pain. He rolled away from the first creature, forcing his weight on top of the one clutching his arm. With little room to manoeuvre, his axe became of little use and he dropped it, using his free arm to pummel the creature's face.

As the creature started rummaging around in his arm, Ghelgor roared in pain and rage. He stood up on the creature's belly as much as was possible and started stomping on its throat with all the power he could muster. Whimpering sounds escaped the creature between stomps, the sound of its breathing quickly becoming filled with rasping and bubbling. With a final crunch, the neck was crushed, and the creature stopped moving. Ghelgor clenched his teeth and yanked the claws out of his arm. The blood flowed steadily down his left arm, dripping from his fingers as he picked up his axe with his unscathed arm. The battle was over, Hellscream and the Witch Doctors were studying the font of power that had been promised them. A pool of forebodingly red water. Neda pulled her claws out of the face of the creature she was sitting on, wiping them roughly on its sickly fur. Together, she and Ghelgor walked closer to the pool.

"The pool emanates great power, but I smell the stench of a demon curse about it!" The head Witch Doctor recoiled slightly from the pool, and waved an arm dramatically towards it. Ghelgor and Neda both frowned and looked at each other. Hellscream snorted and rumbled in response that he was cursed already, that if he had to drink from these waters to defeat his enemy, then he would. As he moved towards the pool, several grunts started questioning him, saying that it went against the teachings of the Warchief, and that we were never to give in to our rage. With frightening determination, Ghelgor's Chieftain turned and informed them all that they must embrace their rage. Become the vessels of destruction that they were meant to be. Ghelgor could feel Neda's eyes looking at him.

Hellscream turned once more towards the pool and drank from its waters. The transformation was almost instantaneous, he visibly grew in height as his skin reddened and his eyes flared red. With renewed zeal, he urged the warriors to drink and be reborn. Ghelgor took a step towards the pool, like all the others, but Neda grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "What are you doing!? Don't give in!" Ghelgor took a few moments to try and get his mind unravelled, try and figure out what to do. But in the end it was simple, his Chief had given him an order and he would follow. "Don't you understand? I will not disobey orders. You're not Warsong, you don't have to take part. Just head back to camp and wait for us to deal with our enemy, then I'll come get you." His face showed no emotions as he glanced back towards the pool where some of the warriors were starting to drink. Part of him longed for it, to feel the rush again, to embrace his bloodrage like in the old days. His legs started dragging him towards the pool without need for his instructions, but Neda pulled him back again. "Are you really this weak!?" Neda glared at him with anger and disdain. "Do you think I'm going to let you go through with this and go on like it didn't happen!? You dishonour both me and yourself!" Ghelgor turned towards her and pulled his arm free, glaring back at her. "Weak? I am strong. I am loyal. You're the one who wants to run away instead of facing the enemy head on." Neda growled and sent a punch at his left cheek, making him reel back a step and his ears ring. He knew that wasn't the best she could do. With her typical fierceness, she took a step closer as if to attack again, but stopped. She took a deep breath to calm herself and looked at him. Her piercing eyes made him uncomfortable. "There is no coming back from this. I ask you one last time, leave with me."

Ghelgor frowned, rubbing his forehead. His mind was mush, he couldn't concentrate. He could hear the other warriors transforming behind him, joining them would change him. Maybe forever. But leaving would change him too. Could he live with himself? He looked at Neda, he wanted to be with her, never leave her. But she was an orc, a fierce and true warrior, like himself. Could she live with a traitor? Did he want her to? The thought of the pool and the promise it gave beckoned him ever stronger, was he doing this out of pure lust for power? He shook his head violently, loyalty above all else! "Ghelgor!" Neda shook him to rouse him from his stupor. "Answer me!" Ghelgor backed away. "Enough! I will not be a traitor, don't ask it of me! Stay with me or leave, it's that simple!" He could hear his heart pounding. Neda simply shook her head and took a few steps back, her expression of utter disappointment cut into him. He turned towards the pool and started walking, growing more and more numb with every step. Before kneeling by the pool, he looked over his shoulder, but she was long gone.

As he drank from the water, its powers flowed through him, burning in his veins like fire. It enveloped him and soothed him, the simplicity of the bloodrage quickly cleared away all his pain and doubt, and he welcomed it like an old friend. What's done is done, he thought, as the blood haze covered his eyes and he lost himself completely to his rage.

Part Nine: Fall of a Giant, Submission of the Proud

The forest echoed with sounds of battle, cries of agony and blood-curdling orcish roars. The trees swayed and shivered, as if appalled by the obscenity that went on around them. Elven bodies hung limply in the lower canopy, skewered on spears, behind the force of ravaging orcs that pushed onwards ever further into the forest. Ghelgor moved with the main force, grinning as he ran, filled to bursting with rage. No matter how many elves he killed, it was never sated. It was a simple rage without reason or motive, even though he had plenty of both. His fiery eyes searched frantically for targets among the trees around them. An arrow hit the orc in front of him straight in the forehead but the orc kept running for a little while longer on pure stubbornness before slowing down. Ghelgor kicked the orc's back and climbed over him to keep up the pace, there wasn't any room to manoeuvre. A spear flew in the suspected direction of the shot, followed by a high screech of pain.

It wouldn't be much longer now, the entire war-band could smell the stench of the almighty being sent against them. The forest opened up briefly into a small clearing, with a regiment of elves waiting for them. With unbridled ferocity, the two groups charged each other, the elves were pushed into a corner and were not going down without a serious fight. A deep red glow illuminated the gloomy dark of the forest as the orcs roared in unison. Ghelgor threw himself into the enemy ranks, landing in the midst of the second line of elves. His axe howled through the air as he swung it around him, cutting across unprotected backs and severing limbs. The third line of elves quickly came to their senses and parried his blows, stopping his rampage temporarily. Grabbing the axe with both hands, holding it horizontally in front of him, he charged at them, pushing the elves backwards slowly but surely like a battering ram. Behind him, the holes left in the ranks were quickly filled with roaring and ravaging orcs, severing the elven battle line. When the amount of elves got too much for him to push, Ghelgor jumped back and readied his axe again, charging at the tightly packed enemy forces. He swung and chopped madly, trying to keep the elves too entrenched to make use of their superior mobility. In his fervour, he pushed them far enough for the enemy to get between him and the other orcs and behind him. Their blades slashed at his back and shoulders, his armour deflecting many but not all of the blows. He roared, more angry than in pain, and swung around with all the force he could muster. His axe caught the first offending elf in the side, burrowing itself half way through the body. As the swing continued, the first elf crashed into the next, and the next, before the group were tossed into their own ranks on the other side of him.

With his back now exposed to the larger enemy force, they wasted no time in taking advantage. Elven blades found their way past his thick armour, sliding in through joints, piercing his left armpit and shoulder. Ghelgor instinctively turned around and backed towards the main force of orcs, parrying blows. His rage kept him fighting despite the injuries, but he needed time to regain balance and control over the situation. The fury of the orcs was matched by the desperation of the elves, and the battle went agonisingly slow. All around him, both parties fought relentlessly, refusing to give any ground to the enemy. Suddenly the monotone drone of battle was interrupted by a booming voice, speaking in a foreign tongue. Whatever it was it said, it made the elves push themselves beyond their limits, starting to force the orcs back slowly. From the forest behind the elves, a huge creature stepped into the clearing. It was an unholy blend of elk and elf, standing as tall as two or three orcs on top of each other, at the very least. With its voice, it seemed to plead with the forest, beckoning it to join in the battle. Trees big and small shook all around them, slowly dragging their roots out of the ground. Time was running out for the orcs.

From the right came a familiar battle cry, as Grom Hellscream launched himself over the front lines, practically running on the shoulders and heads of the elves to get to his target. The orcs increased their efforts, rallied by the show of audacity, halting the slow push of the elves again. Grom and the elk clashed, axe against large and almost wood-like arms. The elk swung at Grom and kicked with its large and powerful front legs. Grom parried a heavy arm and caught a hoof to the stomach, sending him flying back. Without pausing, he got back on his feet and rushed towards the elk, jumping with his axe held high, howling through the air. The elk caught Grom in mid-air, grasping him by the throat, seemingly taunting him in its foul language. Grom roared and kicked the creature squarely in its harsh face repeatedly until its grip on him failed, dropping him to the ground. Wasting no time, Grom launched himself upwards, lodging his axe deep in the creature's chest. The giant groaned, looking at the small orc that had caused its demise, before toppling over.

The few trees that had managed to join the battle returned to their dormant state and fell over the battlefield, crushing unfortunate orcs and elves alike. Ghelgor barely jumped out of the way of a huge trunk, climbing on top of it to get a better view of the battle. The organised elven lines were no more, fighting in small huddles or completely isolated in a sea of red. The orcs ran from group to group, quickly finishing off the stragglers. Ghelgor jumped back into the fray, not wanting to be left out of the clearing up. As the last elf was brutally cut down, the orcs turned to their leader, standing triumphantly on the corpse of the giant. Grom lifted his axe high and let out a glorious victory roar, quickly echoed by those of his warriors. Ghelgor revelled in the victory, and the many more victories to come once the Warchief and the rest of the clans drank of the water. A return to the old days, when the Horde ravaged the land, unstoppable and all powerful.

From the shadows came a sinister and deep laugh. A massive demonic creature stepped into the clearing. "Hello again, Grommash." Its deep voice seemed to echo in Ghelgor's mind. Grom and the orcs turned their attention to the new threat, halting their victory celebrations. Grom jumped down from the giant's corpse, slowly approaching the demon. "Mannoroth! It... can't be." Grom's fury seemed to weaken, Ghelgor and the other orcs were unsure of what was happening. The demon managed what must have been a cruel grin, laughing at the great Chieftain. He calmly explained that he had come to bring the orcs back into the fold. That despite their previous failure, they would serve the Burning Legion once more. Grom's voice faltered as he tried to rebuke the demon's claims. "No! We... are free!" Mannoroth laughed. "Stupid, pitiful creature. I am the rage in your heart. I am the fury in your thoughts. I alone empowered you to bring chaos to this world, and by the endless void, you shall!"

Ghelgor saw his Chieftain's will crumble. Grom knelt before the demon, quickly followed by the other orcs. Ghelgor stared at the blood soaked ground, what tiny bit of will he had left retreating, leaving him as little more than a machine. He no longer cared what happened next. But he knew it would be horrible.

Part Ten: The End of the Curse

The sky was dark, but everything was tinted red through Ghelgor's eyes. The surrounding area had been heavily fortified by the Warsongs in preparation for the inevitable attack from the Horde. Ghelgor was stationed at one of the forward outposts, together with several grunts. The outpost was quiet, no one spoke, there was nothing to say. Ghelgor was barely concious, letting his instincts handle things instead. He paced along the ramparts restlessly, surveying the landscape, willing his enemies to attack and have it over with.

His ears perked up at the sound of war horns, the Horde had arrived at long last. Soon after, rows of orc warriors streamed towards the outpost. Within their ranks were... humans. Ghelgor's fiery eyes flared and any compunctions he might still have had about killing fellow members of the Horde were gone. As the first orcs climbed the ramparts, Ghelgor met them eagerly with his axe, severing hands and heads before their owners had gotten all the way up. Within minutes, the enemy broke through the gate, pouring into the outpost like water. Ghelgor roared and jumped down from the ramparts, rushing to join the main battle. He locked on to the first human he saw, hacking and beating his way to it through the orcs that were in the way. Raising his axe, Ghelgor let out a guttural growl before cleaving the human's skull. The spray of blood covered his grinning face and he turned, frantically looking for another human.

A sharp pain in the back and Ghelgor was thrown forward by the force of an orc's axe, the blade bit deep through the armour and into his flesh. He stumbled around, but quickly forgot about the pain in his rage, focusing his attention on the closest orc. He swung his axe madly at his adversary, not caring where he hit just as long as he hit. The orc parried his blows while backing up, until suddenly lunging forward, kicking Ghelgor in the chest. He stumbled back, tripping on a corpse and falling. As soon as Ghelgor hit the ground, the orc followed through with a chop to his gut. The axe lodged itself in his stomach. He gasped for air, his vision blurring. The orc placed a foot on his chest as support as he pulled the axe back out. Ghelgor turned his head to search for his own axe, but saw instead the rapidly approaching hooves of a Paladin's horse.

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The taste of blood in his mouth wouldn't go away, the ringing in his ears wouldn't stop, Ghelgor sat shivering in his cage looking at his hands. Covered in blood and knuckles scraped almost to the bone. Until but a moment ago, he'd been punching the bars in his rage. The last few days were a blur. He had fought against the Horde, he knew this, but also against humans. The Horde had allied with humans against them, a despicable strategy. Ghelgor frowned and clenched his fists, growling at the pain. He looked at his hands again, noticing their green colour underneath all the blood. Finally he recognized his symptoms, the bloodrage had ended and he was once again in the grips of withdrawal. Like on cue, the pain in his back and chest flared up, causing him to groan and grimace.

He clenched his teeth, focusing on remaining concious. He was alive, why had he been spared? Looking around him for the first time, he could see several cages like his, filled with Warsong warriors. All seemingly as confused as he was. The reality of the situation started to sink in. The clan had sided with enemies of the Horde and had been defeated in battle. Had he ended up a traitor, despite his sacrifices to avoid it? No, no more this time than with the Twilight. He followed orders, like he should. It was not his place to question them. He made his choice, and the alternative would not have been any better, having to live as a traitor to the clan for the rest of his life. What's done is done, he thought yet again.

His wounds were crudely healed, most likely done in a rush. Understandable, it's unwise to waste more time than necessary on an enemy. He wondered if Neda had been there, if she was safe, if she had seen him. It was strange, he felt no shame over his rage, but the thought of her seeing it made him uneasy. Only time would tell what the Horde planned to do with its lost children, perhaps the Warsong clan would be disowned and exiled like the Twilight. Ghelgor let out a strained sigh, leaning back against the bars to rest.

Part Eleven: Redemption and Reconciliation

The camp was eerily quiet, despite the upcoming battle. Usually, the grunts would boast about how many kills they'd rack up, or how many scars they'd get. No one boasted about anything tonight. Most sat in small huddles, doing whatever they could come up with to pass the time. Ghelgor understood them completely, the recent events had overturned his entire world view. The Horde allying with humans, and now even with the blasted warrior women; the purple elves. With the situation dire enough to warrant such alliances, it was no wonder the Warsong clan had been "pardoned" of their transgressions, every warrior was needed. The news of Grom's sacrifice had been received with mixed feelings. He'd been a great warrior and Chief, it was a terrible loss, but he died like a true warrior. And Mannoroth was a formidable foe. Hellscream had met an enviable end, unlike the one that beckoned on the horizon for the still living.

It felt like the entire Horde had been assembled on the massive mountain, the camp was littered with every clan's banners and warriors. Since arriving, Ghelgor had seen Neda, as well as his brother and father, but had made no attempts to contact them. If they'd seen him, then they'd apparently made the same decision. In his mind, Ghelgor was sure he, or them, would be dead before the next sunrise. Why bring up the past at such a time? Instead he focused on sharpening his axe and checking his armour. In all his years of war, never before had he been preparing to enter a battle with as little morale as now. He could see it in the faces of the other grunts, they didn't know what they were fighting for any more. Things were happening above their heads, they were moved around like pawns. Such is the way of things of course, but usually some attempt is made to give the soldiers a reason to fight, be it truth or a convenient lie. They had been told that they were now allied with their worst enemies and that a vast army of demons and undead were marching on them. They were told to hold the line. Not win, but hold the line. For what? Elven trickery. Magic and traps. The whole plan was incredibly demoralizing. Still, they would fight, and die. Hopefully their sad deaths would be sufficient for their ancestors to accept them in their midst. Ghelgor felt cheated out of his promised grand death, so many epic battles where he could have met his end, instead this is what he's given, to die as a pawn of elves.

To add greater insult, the humans were taking the first enemy onslaught, protecting the passage to the orc camp. The orcs were to send reinforcements until the human camp fell, at which point they would be the enemy's next target on its way up the mountain. The massive tree at the mountain summit was the ultimate goal of the demonic host. The last passage was protected by the elves, who would continue the defence once the orcs had fallen. Ghelgor snarled and threw his sharpening stone on the ground, the thought of the Horde being defeated again enraged him, and he cursed himself for allowing the thought to take root in his mind to begin with. Elven trickery be damned, the orcs would show them that their silly plans were unnecessary. Let the demons come and break themselves against the might of the Horde!

It wasn't long before the scouts came running through camp with news of the humans falling. Ghelgor snorted, the orcs would show those pinkskins how to hold the line. He rushed to his feet, resting his axe on his shoulder as he made his way to the gates. The line of warriors was tightly packed, but he managed to make room. Everyone stood quietly, watching the passage that would soon be teeming with demons and undead. The sound of the great host came ever closer, preceded by the stench of fel magic. Then they appeared, grotesque demonic hounds with two large tentacles protruding from their backs, charging ahead of the host. After them came the demon footsoldiers, the fiery infernals and others, as well as the assorted forms of undead. The orcs spread their formation, giving room for their weapons to swing free. Ghelgor glared at the hounds approaching them, holding his axe in position, ready to start his sequence of swings. When the hounds were nearly upon them, Ghelgor let out a fierce roar, swinging his axe at a hound as it leaped towards him with its tentacles outstretched. The blade cut the tentacles and head clean off, and Ghelgor sidestepped to avoid being hit by the limp body. Another hound leaped for him, he sidestepped again, slamming his axe in its side, throwing it to the ground. Before he could pull his axe free, yet another hound barrelled into him, pinning him down. The tentacles flailed around, trying to grab at him wherever possible. Ghelgor held the beast's head by the jaw, holding it back from biting his neck, while grabbing a tentacle and biting down hard on it. The hound yelped, yanking the tentacle away and letting up on its relentless assault for a few precious seconds. Ghelgor promptly took hold of the beast's head with both hands and twisted its neck, using all his strength to force the corpse off him just in time to see the felguard infantry charge at them with their massive axes.

Spitting out some demon blood, Ghelgor picked up his axe and prepared to defend again. Axe smashed against axe as the orcish ranks held their ground. The felguard pushed mercilessly, with the whips of their masters at their backs. But despite their ferocity, it seemed they would be unsuccessful in breaking the orc lines. Ghelgor chopped the arm off the closest felguard, its axe falling harmlessly to the ground, followed by a chop to the neck. But as the demon's head fell, the ground began to shake. From behind the felguard, an infernal charged forwards. Flinging slow demons into the air and out of its way, it picked up the pace, hitting the wall of orcs in an explosion of green fire, bodies flying in every direction. Ghelgor was blinded by the light and thrown to the ground. As he got up, the ranks were scattered and demons were rushing in through the holes. He roared again, throwing himself upon the closest demons, hacking away at all he could see. The battle was chaotic, demons, orcs and undead mixed together. At the height of the chaos, horns signalled that the other gate had fallen. They would be attacked from both sides now.

A couple of ghouls leaped onto Ghelgor's back, ripping and biting at his armour. He elbowed one of them off, stomping on its head to finish it. Grabbing the other ghoul's head, he flung it over his shoulder and into the surrounding battle. His back stung from where their claws had gotten through. The ground shaking was his only warning before he was tossed in the air as if he'd weighed nothing, crashing into a felguard on the way down. Pain streamed throughout his body and his head spun as he attempted to get back up. The felguard he'd crashed into helped him up, lifting his body in the air, a cruel grin on its face. From his vantage point, Ghelgor saw that the battle was lost. The enemy charged through the camp from the other gate to join the battle, and reinforcements were approaching from the passage. The felguard slammed him down on the ground, stunning him. It raised its axe, swinging it down towards his head. Everything started to slow down, a white light enveloping the surroundings and finally himself. Ghelgor felt as if he was being twisted and turned inside out, making him sick to the stomach. He shut his eyes tight to shield them from the light.

Slowly but surely, sounds reached his ears again, sounds of battle but distant. The light dimmed and he opened his eyes expecting to see the axe coming at him, but instead he was greeted by the face of his brother. Modrak was covered with blood as befits a warrior after battle, holding out his hand. Ghelgor took the hand firmly and pulled himself off the ground. Face to face, the two brothers looked at each other for a while. After all that had happened, what did their petty dispute really matter. Ghelgor smiled faintly, grabbing Modrak's shoulder. His brother returned the favour. Looking around, Ghelgor could see that they were somewhere away from the path up the mountain, away from the battle. Humans and orcs standing in groups, all bloodied by battle. They'd been plucked from the jaws of death by human magic. The idea sickened him, but there was no time to dwell on that. The elves would be hit next, and there was nothing he or anyone else could do but wait. Modrak grinned at him. "I was wondering when you'd pull your head out of your arse, brother." Ghelgor grinned back, albeit not as widely. "My mind works slowly but surely, brother. What of father? Is he here?" Modrak shook his head and frowned. "Neda is though, in case you were wondering that too." Ghelgor grimaced, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "I think I'll just... sit down here for a while. Wait and see if the world ends before I make any further decisions."

Before long, a great horn was sounded, shortly followed by a massive explosion lighting up the sky, causing everyone to shield their eyes and avert their faces from the heat. Either the plan had worked, or they were all going to die. The Warchief ordered the survivors to join the battle yet again, to mop up the weakened and leaderless demons. With his doubts cleared away, Ghelgor set off as ordered with his brother beside him. The mopping up paled in comparison to the previous battles, it was a mere formality, but it had to be done. Once the demons were utterly destroyed, Ghelgor and Modrak went in search of their father. The ruins of the orc camp was littered with bodies, healers went from body to body trying to find someone they could possibly aid. It didn't take long to spot the unique black armour of Gandrak Bloodfiend. As they got closer, Ghelgor noticed Neda kneeling by the body. She spoke softly to his father, too quietly to hear. As the brothers knelt on the other side of Gandrak, she looked up, startled. Ghelgor managed a faint smile. Neda seemed as if she wanted to say something, but shook her head instead, looking back down at Gandrak. The Bloodfiend was in very bad shape, the family armour cut through by demon axes in several places. His foggy eyes fixed onto Modrak and then Ghelgor and he spoke with a gurgling voice. "My sons..." Ghelgor took his father's hand and nodded grimly. "Father." Gandrak coughed violently, spilling blood on the ground. He tried a few times to speak again, but it was too late. Still coughing, he took Neda's hand and coupled it with Ghelgor's, before finally succumbing to his wounds.

Ghelgor and Neda stared at the body for a while, before Neda yanked her hand back and stood up to leave. Her voice faltered as she spoke, the only weakness in her otherwise steely demeanour. "I'll leave you two to mourning, and paying your respects." Ghelgor watched her leave, wondering if he would ever see her again. But for now, his father was dead, and he and his brother needed to come to grips with the situation. Ghelgor was the Bloodfiend now.

Part Twelve: Building a Home

The red canyons of the newly founded orc homeland of Durotar echoed with the sound of construction work. The machine of war had swiftly been transformed into a diligent workforce following the Legion's defeat on the mountain. With the new nation in dire need of fortifications and peons being in short supply, all the clans committed warriors to the cause. Ghelgor Bloodfiend hammered away at the side of a building, high up on a scaffold. The work kept him occupied, but what would happen once Orgrimmar was completed? There was talk of peace.

Peace. The word was foreign to him, held no significant meaning. Was it not a form of surrender? A sign of weakness? Victory, however, he understood. The calm following the annihilation of an enemy. But even if one enemy was defeated, the humans still remained. As did the purple elves. Surrounding Durotar to the south and north, their enemies were undoubtedly making ready to end their dreams of a home. There would be "peace" only after Azeroth was completely secured for the Horde. But, the Warchief had announced an alliance with the humans, or at the very least a non-aggression pact. Ghelgor wondered what would become of orcs like him in this new age of politics. An age where words became the weapon of choice, and true warriors were looked down upon for their rage. Despite it all, Ghelgor would serve and obey the Horde until the day he died or was deemed obsolete. He knew of no other way to live, nor did he wish to.

Since his father's death, he'd spent the majority of his free time with his brother Modrak, talking about the war and what they'd both been up to. Rebuilding their damaged relationship. After all, they were all the family they had left now. He'd attempted to speak with Neda as well, but she evaded him at every turn. Apparently, keeping grudges was yet another skill of hers. Ghelgor grumbled, slamming his hammer against the metal band reinforcing the building. She'd made her choice, why was she angry at him? Bah, females.

Beside him, two orcs were discussing rumours as they worked. Rumours of human soldiers along the coast, far north of their own territory. Maybe this pact would be short-lived. Ghelgor grinned to himself; one can only hope.

Part Thirteen: Severing Ties

Ghelgor ran from the ever rising outer walls of Orgrimmar towards the coast, trying in vain to figure out what to say once he reached his destination. His head was a mess of conflicting ideas. The sea breeze hit his face as he reached the top of a small hill, looking out over the makeshift harbour. He took a few seconds to inhale the salty air and clear his mind before running down the hill towards the boats and the assembled crowd. Orcs from all the clans were gathered, saying goodbye to brothers and sisters in arms, as the Frostwolf clan began its journey back to its old home in Alterac Valley. War forms strong bonds of friendship, regardless of clan, and this new exodus broke many of those bonds, and every bond Ghelgor had left.

Jumping on the spot, he managed to sight his brother waving from on top of a pile of crates. Ghelgor quickly forced his way through the crowd, pushing and shoving. His brother jumped down from his perch and the two orcs grabbed eachothers' shoulders, smiling slightly as they nodded in greeting. They both knew it was a goodbye, not a hello. Modrak raised his voice in order to be heard over the crowd around them. "Brother. Clan separates us again, but we are family. Remember that." Ghelgor raised his voice to match. "I will remember, brother. You remember too!" He grinned and punched Modrak in the chest playfully. His brother responded with a punch to the shoulder, slightly less playful. Grinning, he gestured further along the pier. "Neda is there. Don't miss this opportunity, you'll beat yourself up about it forever."

Ghelgor nodded and made his way through the crowd again, grabbing Neda's arm and pulling her away from the boat she was about to board. She was wearing a robe with symbols and markings on it. Something to do with the shamans, he figured. She quickly found herself in her new situation, staring Ghelgor down. "Ghelgor Bloodfiend. So you found me, at last." Ghelgor took a deep breath, preparing to talk, but Neda cut him off. "Came all this way to say nothing? You were always so good with words." Frowning, Ghelgor responded with a bit more force than he had first intended. "-You- walked out on -me-! I'm the one who should be spewing spiteful words!" Neda pulled her arm free from his grasp, giving him a stern look. "You accuse me of walking out? You knew what was going to happen, what you were going to become. Willingly and knowingly, you drank that water. You didn't care about me, or the Horde, or anything. I saw you, beating your fists bloody against the bars like a rabid animal. I left my feelings for you outside that cage."

Neda turned to walk away, but Ghelgor grabbed her arm and pulled her back, growling. "You knew who I was even before you met me, you sought me out because of the stories my father told you about his lost son. If I let my family go because of loyalty to the clan, why wouldn't I let you go too? Did you think you could change me? Are you that bloody special? You're not innocent in this, only ignorant and arrogant." Neda snarled back, once again pulling her arm free. "You're a weapon to be wielded, not a male to build a life with. Not a person to be fond of. You just want someone to pick you up and point you at an enemy. Well, I already have weapons, what possible use are you to me?" Ghelgor roared in frustration and anger. "Go then! Take your ship and begone from my sight! I hope your ideals keep you company, for I doubt any male ever will!" For a second it seemed like Neda was about to attack him, but for some reason she merely turned and stormed through the crowds and onto the boat, leaving Ghelgor on the pier, high on adrenaline. He roared and slammed his fist in the wooden boards below him, breathing heavily as he knelt. May the seas pluck the fel female from the deck and drown her. Modrak put his hand on his brother's shoulder and muttered a few words in his ear before heading to the ship. "I'll look after her for you, brother." Ghelgor closed his eyes and sighed, suddenly he felt very alone.

Part Fourteen: Hollow Inheritance

Donned in his father's black armour, Ghelgor stood out like a sore thumb in the line of battle-ready orc grunts. A suit of chain-mail and leather, the vital areas covered by metal plates, all dyed in black. Newly repaired and reinforced since the glorious death of its previous owner, it was clean and fervently polished, but it held little gleam. The rays of the scorching Durotar sun seemed to disappear into the dark depths of the plates. Inside it, Ghelgor was sweating profusely, he had never thought about how hot his father must have been throughout all his many battles. The orcs standing around him were clad in a wide variety of styles, ranging from sparse leather to chain-mail suits and full plate, mirroring the wide variety of clans gathered under the banner of the new orc homeland. Ghelgor had received a few lingering looks as he gathered with the other warriors, all of them from orcs that had known and fought beside his father. They were not easy to read, perhaps they judged him, doubted that he could fill his father's boots, or maybe they saw their brother-in-arms once again for just a second before realising their mistake. He didn't speak to them to find out, in fact he hadn't spoken to anyone since Neda and his brother Modrak had left, weeks or maybe months ago. He didn't keep track of time any more.

He had drifted far from his adopted clan, the Warsong. It had happened gradually ever since the death of Hellscream. He'd stopped joining in on their communal dinners, keeping to himself during the days and sleeping under the sky, avoiding the Warsong barracks. Ghelgor had come to the realisation that he had sworn his arms and his life to the service of the Chief instead of the clan, and it made him bitter. The clan goes before everything, but he had allowed himself to be led astray by the imposing and grand image of Grom Hellscream. No matter how hard he had tried to convince himself otherwise, he had been clan-less since the death of his hero. Without a clan, without his family, and without Neda. This was the second time in his life that he stood completely alone.

A coarse voice roared over the assembled warriors, the time for marching was upon them. They were to move south along the coast and root out the pinkskins who'd been leading raids against orc settlements, in violation of the despicable treaty put in place between the Warchief and the pinkskin female sorcerer. Ghelgor took some comfort and cheer from this development, since it gave him a purpose again. He would fight as if there was nothing else in this world but death, his or theirs. He would fight until his family and that bloody female were buried so deep in his mind he'd barely remember them. And when he couldn't fight any more, and his blood painted the sand black, he'd greet his ancestors with the same chill they'd shown him all his life. To the nether with all of them.

Part Fifteen: Red Sand

The dead and dying littered the sand and floated in the muddy water. The evening sun bathed the beach in a reddish light, but Ghelgor didn't need the sun to see red. True to his habit, he had retreated back into his rage, the blood haze keeping things simple. His face was covered in grime, blood and sand, as was his newly acquired armour. He walked slowly and methodically through the battlefield, searching for survivors among the carnage. The humans all wore the tabard of the invading forces from the east, the kin of the witch; Proudmoore.

A nearby groan caught Ghelgor's attention and he veered off towards the source of the sound without even thinking about it. He hadn't done much of that for the past week. The human was dragging itself along the sand with one arm, the other clutched around its stomach. Ghelgor raised his axe and let it fall on the outstretched arm, severing it at the elbow. The human coiled up and hugged its stump defensively, reaching up with its other arm towards Ghelgor in a pleading gesture. Ghelgor's eyes seemed to light up as he put his foot down firmly on the human's chest, grabbed the pleading limb and ripped it from its socket, roaring gutturally.

Breathing heavily, he soaked up every last bit of adrenaline from the simple act before looking back down at the pathetic creature on the ground. The human was still now, its empty eyes staring at him. Ghelgor snorted and threw the severed arm in its owners face before continuing his search. Yes, he knew the name of his enemy. But she was their ally. As if the battle of Mount Hyjal hadn't been enough, the Warchief insisted on continuing his shameful alliance. These pigs wore her colours, her name were on their lips, yet Thrall protected her and listened to her poisoned words.

Looking out over the water, he could make out the armada blocking their path to the hated stronghold of Theramore. He had never liked the sea or ships, but he couldn't wait to get on board one of those vessels and make those marines regret their careers. Once the Horde commandeered a fleet, it'd only be a matter of time before the sea turned red with pig-blood and Theramore crumbled to the sound of wailing and screaming. Males, females or cubs, it made no difference, not one human would live to tell the tale. He'd make sure of that himself if need be.

Part Sixteen: Seas of Blood

Standing by the railings of a newly commissioned frigate, Ghelgor's thoughts drifted back to the Horde's journey across the ocean, seemingly so long ago now, as the cold water hit his face. What had changed in all that time? He was still alone, with no clear place in the world, and the Horde was still a shade of its former glory. The only difference seemed to be that he'd stopped caring about it. There were still battles to be had, and as long as the supply of them kept up the rest of the world could do whatever the fel it wanted. He tightened his grip on the railings and squinted, trying to see the enemy armada up ahead. The sea off the coast of Dustwallow Marsh was choking under constant fog, causing the speeding frigate to cause equal ripples in both sea and fog. Ghelgor could only make out the frigates on either side of the one he had boarded, but he knew several more were with them, as well as juggernauts, big floating monsters with enough fire-power to level the witch's stronghold if it came to that.

A thundering noise heralded the onset of battle, followed by a cannonball rushing past Ghelgor's railing position and smashing into the sea. An organised chaos burst into action on the deck, with orders flying to and fro, orcs manning the cannons and getting ready for proper contact with the enemy. That attack had no doubt come from the stronghold itself, and not from the ships. Ghelgor released the railing and took up position by the nearest cannon, grabbing a torch and holding it poised to light the fuse. Bursting forth from the thick fog, the figurehead of a human frigate rushed to meet them. The two ships were so close at this point that any evasive manoeuvres would have been pointless, so they passed each-other at close range. The first cannons fired, and then the next, down along the broadside of both ships, sending orcs, humans and cannons flying. Ghelgor barely had time to feel the splinters and the heat on his skin before lighting his fuse and continuing the row of destruction. The planks under his feet swelled up as the lower deck exploded, sending him crashing into the mast.

He shielded his face from the debris with one arm and held on to the mast with the other. An orc flew by him and into the sea on the other side of the ship, roaring defiantly in the face of his own death. Ghelgor scrambled to his feet and grabbed hold of the railing again, surveying the damage. The two ships sped away from each-other now, their sides ripped to shreds but apparently still seaworthy. Corpses of orcs hung halfway through the holes in the side of their ship, the waves causing some of them to fall out as the ship crashed into them. Looking out across the waters around him, he could see the fog dissipating from the cannon-fire now spreading out all across the area. A shout from the Captain turned Ghelgor's attention to the silhouette of a battleship towering in the distance, straight in their path. The Captain shouted that the rudder was gone and that a collision was imminent. As the fast frigate raced towards the battleship, Ghelgor hung on to the railing with all his strength. The battleship had its broadside against them and fired off a volley. The first balls hit the mast and the Captain's deck, collapsing the already damaged stern of the ship entirely and sending the mast down on top of Ghelgor's position, the sail covering him. Once the ships made contact, there'd be very little time to get off the frigate before it sunk. Still holding on to the railing, now blinded by the sail, Ghelgor waited for the frigate's bow-spike to penetrate the human battleship. The next round of cannonballs hit the deck near him and the planks moved like waves before settling down. For all he knew, the ship was sinking. But then came the collision he'd been waiting for, and he barely managed to keep his hold on the railing.

With no time to waste, he let go and reached for the axe on his back, using it to cut his way out of the sails. Emerging from the cloth, destruction was all around him. The deck was on fire and the hole that was previously called the stern was quickly dragging the ship down into the sea. In the other direction, the bow-spike had blasted through the hull of the battleship and was the only reason why the ship wasn't sinking faster than it was. Clambering out of the sail completely, Ghelgor ran towards the bow, trying to rally as many orcs as he could on the way. The bow-spike was slowly losing grip and sliding back out of the hole it had made as Ghelgor balanced across it with more orcs in tow. Humans leaned over the railings up top and rained down arrows and musket-fire on the survivors. Reaching the hull, Ghelgor swung his axe, chopping at the damaged planks to make the hole large enough to enter through. A human fell into the sea beside him with an axe lodged in its skull followed by a victory roar from an orc behind him. Ghelgor grinned as he kicked the last plank away and charged through into the lower deck. The humans were waiting for him with swords at the ready. Brandishing his axe, he charged, finally able to feed his insatiable bloodlust. The tight space and his bulky form and armour was an issue but Ghelgor was too wrapped up in the killing to notice. He swung his axe, hitting as much wood as flesh and armour as it cut deep grooves in the surrounding struts, raining splinters down over the warriors. A few orcs climbed over the cannons on both sides of him, flanking the human defenders. Together, the orcs made short work of their enemy.

A moment of relative calm allowed the orcs to catch their breath and take in their surroundings. On one side of the battleship, their frigate finally gave up and sank, the battle raging on behind it with half the enemy armada engaged in a brutal melee with the orc frigates and juggernauts. On the other side, the other half of the enemy armada were on their way into the battle. Ghelgor eyed the perfectly lined and primed cannons facing the enemy and grinned. “Let's give them a taste of what's to come!” he shouted and gestured at the cannons. The orcs took up position by the cannons and lit the fuses, sending a volley at a nearby frigate, taking its crew completely unaware. The battleship's fire-power tore the frigate apart, the screams and explosions prompting roars and laughter from the orcs. “Alright, enough playing around! There are cannons up top as well, and humans!” Ghelgor charged up the stairs to the upper deck. Kicking down the door, Ghelgor was greeted by a volley of arrows and musket-fire. His black armour took the brunt of the assault as he fell backwards from the impacts, into the orcs behind him who unceremoniously pushed him forwards, sending him stumbling into the lines of reloading soldiers. Ghelgor grabbed hold of a human, pulling him close to help him regain balance. The weight of the orc and his armour proved too much for the human and the pair tumbled on to the deck, the human's yelping swiftly silenced as Ghelgor fell on top of it to the sound of bones cracking. Meanwhile, the orcs stormed out of the doorway at the rest of the humans, colouring the deck red with pig-blood.

Grumbling and groaning, Ghelgor rose from the human corpse that had broken his fall. Black blood, barely visible against the black armour, seeped out from where the projectiles had managed to pierce him. Bloody cowards. Well, he wasn't dead yet, and there were cannons waiting for him. The orcs took up position by the cannons and sent off another volley against the enemy, a battleship this time. The assault toppled the main mast of the grand ship as well as tore up several holes in its hull. Ghelgor didn't have time to think about how long it would take the humans to consider the ship captured and start returning fire, because the battleship immediately did just that. A ball hit one orc straight in the chest, catapulting what was left of him through the railing and into the sea. The rest of the volley hit the hull with enough force to tilt the ship, throwing the orcs off balance and tumbling around on the deck. One of the cannons broke free of its placement and slid across the now leaning deck, crushing an orc against the opposite railing.

Ghelgor pulled himself up in time to see the enemy battleship turn its bow towards them and fire its massive bow-cannon. The huge projectile hit the hull with tremendous force, causing the ship to more or less explode, throwing orcs and human corpses in all directions. Ghelgor grasped all around him as he flew for anything to save him from being sucked under the waves. Hitting the water almost knocked him out and his armour quickly dragged him under. Managing to stay conscious, he reached out to grab a rope, hoping it was connected to something that could float. He started climbing the rope towards the surface, watching the battle from below. The water was filled with debris, sunken ships and bodies, blood forming black and red clouds. A few sharks already circled around the dead and more would come. The sound of the battle above was muffled, and more bodies hit the water as Ghelgor continued climbing. He was almost out of air when he reached the surface, clutching the railing the rope had been tied to. It was a large part of the battleship's hull.

The Horde fleet was on the move, hitting the remaining human battleships hard. A massive juggernaut passed by Ghelgor's piece of hull as it fired its bow-cannon, the noise making his ears ring. From his position, he watched the last of the battleships sink and the remaining human frigates break formation and retreat. Wounded and exhausted, he was finally picked up by a frigate almost half an hour after the victory. Now all that was left to do was to invade Theramore and put an end to the human presence in their new home. That is, if politics allowed it.

Part Seventeen: The Final Straw

Warriors filled the boats to the brim, standing shoulder to shoulder as the waves rocked them. An eerie calm had fallen over the sea as well as the orcs, trolls and tauren gathered to defend the Horde's new home. This was it, the final battle of the campaign, and the last battle ever fought if the Warchief had anything to say about it. His talk of peace sent shivers down Ghelgor's spine. We would defeat Proudmoore and his clan, only to run back home and leave the witch to rebuild her empire and try again later. He didn't speak of victory, he spoke of surrender. Thrall had been raised by the humans and now he was starting to think like them. They had made the mistake of not eradicating the orcs after their victory in the second war, and the Warchief was going to repeat that mistake. Did he not understand that beasts are most dangerous when wounded?

Ghelgor shook his head in anger, snorting and growling. He tried to put it out of his mind, he needed to be focused on the here and now, the battle to come. When the doors of the transport swung open, they would be facing off against seasoned warriors entrenched and fortified in an island stronghold. This would be a tough victory, made harder by Thrall's orders to spare the witch's faithful. It was barely a battle any more, it was a political show. The thought sickened Ghelgor to the core of his proud warrior heart. Again he forced himself to focus, whatever his own opinions of this battle it still had to be fought, and he would fight whatever those sea-pigs threw at him.

The transports hit the shore with a loud grinding noise as it rode up on the sand, and then the large doors in front of the warriors slammed down against the beach. The light blinded Ghelgor as he rushed forwards on instinct, brandishing his axe and letting out his frustration in a guttural roar. As his vision cleared, Ghelgor could see them, lined up in defensive formation, human soldiers awaiting the Horde's onslaught. Ghelgor grinned and took off running, he was not about to disappoint. The sand pulled on his boots with each step he took, but he had fought on sand before and compensated to avoid tripping or losing momentum. He raised his axe to strike and uttered words well known to any member of the Horde, but unlike Thrall he meant them.

“Lok'tar ogar!”

His initial strike cleaved the helmet and skull of the unfortunate soldier to stand in his way. Ghelgor wasted no time and proceeded to use the corpse as a stepping stone further into the enemy ranks, swinging his axe in wide arcs at the humans all around him. He revelled in this, his natural state, surrounded by enemies with an axe in his hands. This was all he really wanted, his place in the world. The half-mad smile on his face must have been a disturbing sight for the humans if they'd taken the time to watch it in-between parrying his axe. Stopping a sword with his plated gauntlet, he yanked it out of its owner's hands and gave it back to him by plunging it into the side of his throat, between the pauldron and the helmet. From behind him, a sword hit him hard over his own pauldron, and he turned with his axe swinging alongside. Hitting the human in the side, making a clear dent in the plate armour, he threw the pig into his fellows.

The defenders' lines were now in total disarray, the onslaught from the orcs and their allies turning the scene into a soup of flesh and blood. Orcs climbed over the corpses of their enemies as well as their brethren to fight without pause, trolls moved through the chaos with uncanny agility to dispatch quick death, tauren charged through the battle trampling humans into the blood-soaked sand, and Thrall's champion Rexxar and his companions carved a bloody path towards the heart of the stronghold. The half-breed warrior was a mountain of muscle and wasn't going to let anything keep him from the human leader. He was aided by the troll Shadowhunter Rokhan and none other than the Chieftain of all tauren, Cairne Bloodhoof. Meanwhile, Ghelgor and the rest of the footsoldiers were ordered to occupy the enemy and keep them at bay. As if they needed to be told.



The battle kept a constant rhythm and flow that was mesmerising, the lines shifting like waves as the two sides pressed equally hard. Ghelgor was drawn deep into the fighting, acting on pure instinct as he performed his deadly dance. Time was immeasurable, the whole world was red, he might have been fighting for half an hour or a day for all he knew. A glimpse of a tabard amidst the carefully choreographed spectacle put him off as he tried his best to avoid slaying the witch's man. His axe sliced through air inches away from the lucky bastard's face and kept going, throwing Ghelgor off balance and stumbling in his attempts to regain it. The humans circled him like piranhas and lunged at him. He raised his arm to parry a blow only to have another draw blood from his vulnerable armpit. Roaring, he threw caution, balance and his axe to the wind in order to catapult himself at the offending human, bringing the pair to the ground. Glaring with mad eyes and with his hand wrapped tightly around the human's throat, Ghelgor squeezed the life out of it.

Two pair of hands grabbed hold of his hair and pulled him off the corpse and onto his knees. The feat required a fair amount of strength. One of the sea-pigs held his hands behind his back while the other measured a sword strike to rob him of his head. Suddenly, the would-be executioner flew high in the air and crashed down among the carnage as a tauren's tree-trunk of a weapon hit him in the stomach. Ghelgor didn't plan to waste this window of opportunity and forced his legs to obey him as he shot up from the sand and turned on his captor in one smooth but exhausting move. The human lost its grip on his hands and barely had time to lay its hand on the hilt of its sword before Ghelgor buried his tusks in its throat, tearing it like cloth. He spat the pig-blood out of his mouth as its previous owner fell, he'd never liked the taste. Like licking a dirty axe. With a short respite from assault, Ghelgor ran to collect his axe and rejoin the battle proper.

The battle was going their way now, the Horde forces pushed the humans back beyond the walls of the stronghold, fighting through the streets and among the homes and shops. Ghelgor even harboured hope that they'd reach the witch's father in time to join the battle, but that hope was short lived. As word of the Admiral's defeat spread through the stronghold, his forces surrendered. Ghelgor ran through the streets now, wanting to at least see the bastard's corpse. As he arrived at the heart of Theramore Isle, he could see the witch on the floor embracing her dead father. His arm itched to raise his axe and take her head off, but Thrall and Rexxar were already talking about leaving. And then he remembered all those details he'd put on hold for the battle. They weren't going to destroy the stronghold, or purge the humans within. They would leave, and show... mercy. Ghelgor seethed with hatred. Hatred for the humans, hatred for the indignity forced upon himself by Thrall's orders, and hatred for the sad state of the Horde.

He would do as he was told, he was no traitor, but this was the final straw. He was not going to accompany the rest of the Horde back home. Durotar was no home for him, it was the home of politicians. He would venture out into Kalimdor and see if there were still members of the Horde somewhere who needed a warrior and expected him to fight. He had heard the Warsong Clan hadn't given up on Ashenvale Forest, they seemed like a good place to start.