warchiefgarrosh

[warchiefgarrosh]

A basket is delivered - full of familiar foods and small, Mag'har-made trinkets. In amongst it all is a note, tied to a scaled-down leather boar mask. "Thinking of you. Missing you."

[Leathery brown brows furrow, head tilts. He reaches out, claws carefully lifting the note, warm, bright eyes soften with nostalgia and affection. His chest throbs, heart thudding particularly soundly.]

You, also, Greatmother.

[warchiefgarrosh]

How's it feel, being uplifted from your position, reduced to a prisoner awaiting trial for war crimes. For murdering innocents and civilians?

[The orc chuckles.]

What foolishness. Ignorance.

What innocents did I murder? What civilians?

Anyone who defies the might of the Horde is no innocent!

[warchiefgarrosh]

[Garrosh raises his jaw, which clenches tightly, eyes narrowing with a flash of anger then humor.]

Undisciplined dogs are useless.

With this, you do not disrespect me. You disrespect the Warlords of Draenor, including my father and many other legendary warriors.

[The gold eyes narrow sharply.]

You are fools.

HAH

[warchiefgarrosh]

Why are you so awesome?

[The Warchief briefly narrows his eyes, as if deep in thought. After a moment, Garrosh chuckles.]

I am a warrior of the Horde. My leadership has been forged from many battles, more won than lost.

[He grins, momentarily cocky in a childlike way, rolling his shoulders.]

Perhaps it is also innate as well.

[warchiefgarrosh]

I think Sylvanas Windrunner should have been Warchief.

[The Warchief stares for a moment.]

…

[Loud, thunderous laughter sounds for a good five minutes.]

[warchiefgarrosh]

I never liked you. Vol'jin all da way mon.

[The Warchief’s eyes narrow but flash with humor.]

You prefer to “like” a leader than have a competent one.

Good. My Horde has no need for you.

[warchiefgarrosh]

You were the better Warchief. Thrall was too infatuated with peace. I am shamed for I could not fight for you.

Thrall no longer exists. [The Mag’har snorts.]

Finding himself caused Go’el to forget his heritage. We are Orcs. We do not bow down. We do not give up! Particularly to humans.

[His fist thuds against his chest.] Lok’tar Ogar. Your shame is no less than mine. Those who claim to write my fate are fools.

[Gold eyes narrow dangerously. His voice rises, only to fall into a deep, snarling growl.]

KNOW THIS, WARRIORS OF THE TRUE HORDE!

Even if I were defeated.

I would never bow my head.

[warchiefgarrosh]

There have been 4 leaders of the Horde before the troll. Blackhand, Doomhammer, Go'el and you. Only two of those can be considered 'great', and one of them handed the title over to the troll. You have a great deal of pride for something that was essentially just a patchwork of orc, troll and ogre tribes united under a single banner.

[Gold eyes glower dangerously.] The title of Warchief is not equal to “leader”. It is not King. It is not Commander. It is Warchief. Many have forgotten what the term war means.

I have not.

I remember those years in Northrend. I remember battling the Scourge alongside  fellow Orcs, as well as Trolls, Tauren, Elves and Forsaken. Under a powerful Orc shaman who was willing to fight for his people, the Horde army did more than survive…we conquered!

[He snarls and spits.] What is an army, weakling? Ah, yes. Multiple people united under a single banner. [He snorts.] I have a great of pride because I am competent, grey face. If you need a list of my accomplishments as a warrior, then you have not been paying attention. [A smirk curls his lips around his tusks.] But you’ve made that clear.

Look at your own words, grey faced fool. Each of those “leaders” was an Orc, though one’s mind is too pathetically human to know it.

[The Warchief pauses, stroking his black jaw.]

In fact, Go’el was never the Warchief of the Horde. He abandoned that title along with the Horde.

[The Shaman was so very talented at abandoning those who needed him. The thought evokes a snarl.]

I do not recognize Vol’jin as Warchief. That is an Orcish title, earned by bloodshed, skill and honor.

The fact that it was given to him…that should be enough to give you pause.

[warchiefgarrosh]

LOK'TAR OGAR!

No self respecting Orc will acknowledge a troll as Warchief. If they do, it will not be for long. [The large orc snarls, nostrils flaring.]  It is disgusting that such a pathetic being now bears the title so many great Orcish leaders held!

Go'el has placed his dear friend in a position that neither of them are prepared for! Vol'jin has never lead armies or captured cities on his own! He fights in the shadows and begs for his enemies to fall. [He barks out a harsh laugh.] And you accuse me of having no honor.

[An angry huff makes his nose crinkle as he growls.] What weak leaders Azeroth now has. Even that fool Varian has lost his tenacity. Pity.

I was hoping he would prove just how powerless Vol'jin truly is.

[warchiefgarrosh]

Victory or Death.

[An appreciative warmth fills Garrosh's golden eyes before they narrow, intensity building in his gaze as he lifts his black jaw.]

Though my strength is my own, my true power lies in the solidarity and courage of my loyal soldiers. Your words do not fall on deaf ears. They are appreciated.

[The Warchief stands tall and thuds his fist against his chest. With every bone in his body and every beat of his heart, he believed in the words he spoke next.]

LOK'TAR OGAR!

[He wondered if those rebels even remembered what those words meant.]

[warchiefgarrosh]

[warchiefgarrosh]

The Mag’har kept his eyes wide open as he stepped through the portal. The same portal his father and brave Horde soldiers had traveled before. His chest swelled with pride. He felt the strange pull of magical energy fade, he blinked once and -

It looked very much like the land he’d just left. Cracked, dry earth and a dark, cloudy sky. He frowned, admittedly slightly disappointed, before he quickly took in his surroundings.

Many green Orcs and other Horde races were occupied - rebuilding fortifications, repairing armor, and discussing battle plans near a flame. A group of Orcs sharpened and cleaned their weapons while talking. They erupted into laughter seconds later. He narrowed his eyes at the sight; unconsciously hoping someday to be a part of such camaraderie, while simultaneously thinking this was no place for it.

Then his eyes strayed to the humans on the other side of the encampment. He snarled, brown fists moving to his axes before Warchief Thrall halted him with an arm clad in Doomhammer's armor, and a severe, yet kind, stare.

“There are times to fight, Garrosh. This is not one of them.”

His hands clenched, entire body still tense, but he stood down - for the time being. Thrall was the Warchief of the Horde and the orc who had opened his eyes to the legacy his father had left him. This time, he would listen.

[The Warchief closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. So much had happened since then. He had led his own, loyal troops and friends who had taught him that laughter, when not disrupting battle preparation, had its very needed place in wartime. That Warchief had told him he was giving Garrosh the title of Warchief and the responsibility that came with it, only to allow his conviction in the decision to falter. A snarl morphed into a bitter chuckle as he remembered how pitiful his younger self had been.

The past had its ways of reminding him of his duty.

Garrosh Hellscream would never be that weak ever again.]

The first step was roughly no different from Draenor.

[warchiefgarrosh]

[Garrosh chuckles, snarling and spitting out the title.]

Alliance prince.

[He laughs.]

I do not seek to control the Sha - it is already done.

Madness and ruin is the path for those who are not strong enough to have a place in my Horde - the True Horde!

Lok'tar Ogar!

[warchiefgarrosh]

[Garrosh conceals an amused chuckle as a snort of derision.]

Not surprising. They rarely have control of their...creations.

[The green imps would likely be slow to put an end to such a spectacle. He tames a smirk as he motions to a Kor'kron.]

Find a shaman. Make sure they don't burn down the entirety of Orgrimmar.

[warchiefgarrosh]

[The Warchief chuckles.]

You confuse pride with confidence, grey face.

Incredible warriors have failed to master the forces I will control.

[warchiefgarrosh]

The recent news of this inevitable...corruption means little here. I will not cease my responses. My dedication to the Horde will never falter.

Lok'tar Ogar! Victory or death.

[warchiefgarrosh]

[The Warchief's eyes sharpen along with the memory. The duel had been an arduous one - the former Warchief was a more than an admirable adversary. Another victory stolen from him. Garrosh's fist clenches. He - and many others - knew he'd been winning when the Lich King's emissary called out its threat. He growls his response.]

Thrall wished to wait, do nothing, as the Scourge multiplied, and he did not agree with my conviction that the Alliance were not to be trusted. [Another low growl.] He then insulted my father - and by extension, my decisions as well. I challenged him - to prove that battle is my area of expertise.

[The expression tinted with annoyance and anger.]

It was clear I was near victory until that damned agent of the Lich King interrupted.