A Savage Nature (Warcraft)

A/N: This story is the newest free write of mine that I started in April of 2023 and will finish next week on August 2nd of 2023.

That said, I will be posting this story one chapter a day on this website until it is completed. You can either read along here or check it out on one of my other websites if you want to read ahead.

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“So then. You’ve seen what could happen. Wouldn’t you like to avoid it?”
 
“You have shown us much. You have even shown me my death. But I wonder why this is the solution you seek.”
 
“Hm? You want to know why? Because it should be entertaining, really. You’ve seen what they are without a connection to you. Now consider what they could become with the right… push.”
 
“You would tie them to our world through him and us? A direct connection, if nothing else.”
 
“Precisely.”
 
“… Very well.”
 
-x-X-x-
 
“Well? There are the trees you lot! Peons get to cutting! Grunts keep an eye out. If I catch you slacking off, I’ll have you trade your battle axes for wood axes and you can join the Peons!”
 
Grommash Hellscream, Chieftain of the Warsong Clan, snarls as he tosses out his orders almost contemptuously. All move to carry out his will, none of them daring to get on his bad side right now. After all, they know he’s in quite the mood after Thrall-
 
“Ack!”
 
“No. No further.”
 
Blinking, Grom finds himself torn from his inner musings by a sight that completely baffles him. The first Peon to step towards a tree has found his leg caught in a bunch of roots curling out of the ground in an unnatural way, holding him in place. Meanwhile, one of the other members of the Warsong Clan has stepped out in front of the rest and now acts as though he alone can hold them all off from carrying out their mission.
 
Grom’s nostrils flare, the Warsong Chieftain snarling as he stomps forward.
 
“Brat! What do you think you’re doing?!”
 
He recognizes the orc in question, of course. He might not know the name of every single member of the Warsong Clan at this point, not after the clan’s population had exploded in size alongside the rest of the Horde when they’d freed their people from the camps and made their way here across the sea. But he knew this one. He knew this one because unlike many of the others, this one stood out. Not necessarily in a positive fashion, however.
 
Rognak Warsong. He had not always been with their Clan. But he’d been with them longer than the freeing of the internment camps and their journey across the sea. He’d been one of the few to come and find THEM during their time living on the outskirts of the human kingdoms, reduced to being nothing but scavengers scrounging for scraps.
 
The orc was young. As young as their new Warchief in fact. Both Rognak and Thrall had been born on Azeroth, a testament to the foolhardiness of some orcs who brought their pregnant mates over through the Dark Portal before it was properly safe. Grom had never thought much of those orcs, but he also never held it against Rognak or Thrall for being born into circumstances outside of both of their control.
 
Still, when Rognak had first joined the Warsong, Grom had been interested in him at first. The brat had broken free all on his own, escaping the humans’ camps and finding his way to them without any help. That alone was impressive enough to warrant the interest of Hellscream, he’d figured. Unfortunately, in the time since, Rognak had not exactly applied himself. Nor had he shown himself to be the same once in a generation talent that Thrall was.
 
As angry as Grommash was that Thrall had sent him and the Warsong Clan to this alien forest in order to harvest lumber, wasting his greatest warriors on menial labor, he still respected and acknowledged Thrall’s strength and his right to do so as Warchief of the Horde. But Rognak? Rognak was more content playing with flowers than he was showing his strength or training with his fellow warriors. Grom knew the brat could swing an axe, but he also knew Rognak preferred not to.
 
In fact, in the battle they’d just had in Stonetalon Peaks, where Grommash’s bloodlust had got the better of him and he and his Warsong had laid waste to the human settlements… not once had he seen Rognak on the frontlines. He hadn’t necessarily been looking too hard at the time, but the brat had been hanging back again hadn’t he? It was moments like that that made Grom wonder if he was even a true orc.
 
Though, he has to admit… right now Rognak stands tall even in the face of his anger, his back straight and his chin jutting out as he works his tusks for a moment before replying.
 
“I’m keeping us from making a big mistake, Chieftain. Look behind me. What do you see? Does this look like any forest you’ve ever seen before, on this world or the last?”

 
Glancing past Rognak, Grommash snorts gruffly. No, it did not. As he’d already noted, the forest was the most alien he’d ever seen. The trees were of a different shape and shade then anything he’d seen before they’d crossed the seas to come to this place as well. However, he didn’t see how that mattered. Unless…
 
“Is this more of your tree-loving shit, brat?”
 
Rognak clenches his jaw, and Grom is actually happy to see the brat look actively angry for once. He hadn’t known the younger orc could show any sort of strong emotion. Frankly, if Rognak’s little tricks hadn’t brought them food in some truly lean months back in the Human Kingdoms, Grom might have felt the need to chase him out of the Clan ages ago. His way of ducking his head and keeping to himself even in the face of insults from his fellow warriors had always struck Grommash as weak and cowardly.
 
There was nothing weak or cowardly about the young orc now, however. And that was the only reason Grommash was willing to entertain whatever THIS was for even a moment.
 
“It is. Chieftain, my tree-loving shit as you call it is telling me something. This forest behind us… is not like the forests we left behind. This forest is protected. If we cut down these trees, we will be making the Horde more enemies than it needs!”
 
More enemies than it needs? Grommash scoffs at the very idea. The Horde has never been stronger than when its enemies were varied and many. In fact, they only truly grew weaker when their only enemy to be found were the humans. Privately, Grom felt as though the Horde lost something in fighting such a singular enemy. They grew complacent… and it ultimately cost them everything.
 
“We are warriors, brat! Any that seek to stand against us, we will cut down! Just as we WILL cut down these trees. The Warchief has given us our orders. The Horde has need of lumber, and as much as I might disagree with Thrall’s use of our Clan, he will GET his wood!”
 
Rognak’s face twists into a grimace, his tusks working again for a moment in a way that makes it clear he’s grinding his teeth. For a second, it looks like he’ll stand down, but then…
 
“But what if we had another way! What if we could achieve the Warchief’s orders without angering the guardians of this forest?”
 
Truly, Grom has never seen Rognak so passionate about anything. That fact, and the service he provided to the Warsong Clan in the past despite his cowardice, stay Grommash’s temper… for now.
 
“What in the spirits’ name are you talking about, brat?!”
 
Rognak looks back over his shoulder at the alien forest that they stand at the edge of for a moment, before turning back to Grom with a wondrous expression on his face.
 
“I can feel it. This forest isn’t just protected, it’s alive. We can make a deal with it, with the denizens that guard it. If we approach with respect instead of belligerence, they might just help us without any harm having to come to these woods! We can make an ally today, instead of an enemy. Please, Chieftain! At least let me try! Have I steered us wrong before?”
 
Grommash clenches his jaw at that, suddenly reminded of the OTHER way in which Rognak provided service to the Warsong Clan before they came across the sea to this new land. Truth be told, it had always sat poorly with the Warsong Chieftain. The food was one thing. Being able to fill their bellies with the nuts, berries, and other edible things that Rognak had always seemed to have a knack for finding during the lean months of winter was one thing.
 
… However, every time that Rognak had provided them with a warning of humans getting too close to them, it had been the greatest of insults to Grommash’s pride to have to heed said warnings. Unfortunately, he knew he’d had no choice at the time. The Warsong Clan were survivors. They were alive, but they were also hunted. The war was over, and the Horde had lost.
 
If he’d fought every human that came close to discovering them in those years that they’d spent living on the outskirts of their enemy’s civilization, eventually an army would have been assembled to hunt them down to the last, ending the Warsong Clan once and for all. Grom couldn’t allow that to happen, so when Rognak proved to be an ample warning system, able to tell them whenever they were getting too close to the human settlements, or the humans were expanding too much in their direction… Grommash had begrudgingly made use of that.
 
He did not like to be reminded of the stain on his honor from repeatedly turning tail and running away, however. And now that they were in a new land far from the human kingdoms, he did not like the implication that it would continue to be that way going forward. In fact, part of the reason Hellscream had struck at the human settlements in Stonetalon despite Thrall’s orders had been to defy that possibility.
 
More than all of that though… Grom is not unaware of the audience that he and Rognak have right now. The orcs that make up the rank-and-file of the Warsong Clan do not follow him as their Chieftain because he is known for his diplomacy. Nor would they respect him if he allowed a coward like Rognak to talk him down just because the younger orc had finally shown some backbone for once. In the end… in the end, there’s only one choice Hellscream can make here. Only one option that keeps his pride and honor, and the respect of his warriors.
 
As Rognak looks at him hopefully, Grommash sneers and shakes his head.
 
“Your fear blinds you, brat. Forest spirits, forest guardians. Bah! These things do not scare me. We are ORCS! We are warriors of the Warsong Clan! Fighting is in our blood. Let these protectors you speak of come and test themselves against the blades of our axes. If they dare, we shall cut them down just as we cut down their precious trees!”
 
At that last sentence, Grommash lifts his axe into the air, causing a roaring cheer to resound through the crowd of orcs as they follow suit. Pointing the axe head at Rognak, Grommash scoffs.
 
“Stand aside, brat. You can play with your flowers after we’re done.”
 
Rognak doesn’t look ready to lay the matter to rest, but the rest of the Warsong Clan seems to consider it over and done with. The Peons start to move forward again, and the Grunts aim to back them up as Grom originally ordered. However, before an axe can strike a tree, Rognak suddenly calls out, one last time.
 
“Then I challenge you, Grommash Hellscream! I challenge you for leadership of this clan! I challenge you to Mak’gora!”
 
Everything goes still. Every orc stops in their tracks as one, staring first at Rognak, then at Grom. Grom, meanwhile, is frozen in place for a long moment before letting out a laugh of disbelief.
 
“Don’t be ridiculous, brat!”
 
But Rognak doesn’t back down. He doesn’t suddenly appear to realize what he’s done and regret it. Oh sure, there’s a small bit of panic in the younger orc’s eyes… he definitely spoke without thinking. However, far from apologizing and retracting his challenge, he stands his ground and grits his teeth.
 
“I said what I said. I challenge you to Mak’gora, Chieftain Hellscream. Will you accept my challenge? Or will you spit on your own honor and the ways of our people?!”
 
… He might have let the brat live before Rognak went and said that. By all rights, they needed every orc they had left if their people were going to survive in these lands. And with the Horde back together, Grommash could have tossed Rognak to another of the clans and let them turn the brat to their purposes and never had to see his stupid mug again.
 
But then Rognak had gone and said what he’d said and now… now Grommash had to kill him.
 
“Fine then! Mak’gora!”
 
Immediately, the rest of the Warsong Clan abandons any thought of cutting trees down for lumber. Instead, they all form a circle around Rognak and Grommash, a deep chant reverberating from amongst them.
 
“Mak’gora. Mak’gora. Mak’gora…”
 
Grom steps forward, and watches as Rognak does the same. The Warsong Chieftain holds his axe in his hand, but Rognak remains unarmed. As the challenged, it falls to Grom to dictate terms.
 
“This Mak’gora will be to the death. We will each be allowed one weapon, to be declared now.”
 
Rognak, to his credit, doesn’t balk when Grommash declares it will be to the death. Most Mak’gora ARE only settled when one of the two involved orcs are dead. Still, sometimes, mercy is shown. There will be no mercy today though. Rognak is a dead orc walking.
 
Hefting his axe, Grommash nods to it.
 
“My weapon shall be my axe. Yours, brat?”
 
Holding up empty hands, green wisps of energy that almost remind Grommash of Fel Magic lift off of Rognak’s fingertips. The Warsong Chieftain knows better of course. The Fel Magic practiced by Gul’dan’s Warlocks was a much sicklier-looking green color. The color that Rognak produces is more vibrant and in a way, almost alive. It is the color of the very nature that the young orc claims he communes with.
 
“I choose my magic as my weapon.”
 
Grom snorts derisively at that, even as there are scoffs and derisive laughter and murmurs crop up from the orcs surrounding them now. The brat’s magic has never amounted to much of anything in the form of combat purposes. He’s never been much of a warrior at all. What he thinks his ability to create flowers will do against Grommash’s axe, the Warsong Chieftain has no idea. Still it’s fitting that he dies wielding the very thing he tried to save, Grom supposes. And in the end… it’s his funeral.
 
“Very well. Then we begin!”
 
That is all the warning that the Orc Chieftain gives. He has been insulted in front of his Clan. He has been disrespected too. Grommash might have to put up with it from Thrall, but he respects Thrall. He does not respect Rognak.
 
He will give the young orc a swift death and end this with one single swing of his axe. If Rognak wishes to die for his strange, tree-loving principles, then Grommash shall grant him his heart’s desire and-!
 
As the Warsong Chieftain lets out a vicious war cry, coming down on Rognak with his axe swinging down from high overhead, something seemingly impossible happens. Rognak meets Grommash’s swing with an upturned palm… that rapidly morphs into a massive bearpaw as the other orc transforms right before the eyes of the Warsong Clan and its leader into a huge, hulking ursine.
 
The bearpaw catches Grom’s axe on the haft, keeping the blade from actually reaching its target. Claws scrape against the wooden handle of Grom’s weapon, grazing his fingers as the paw rests between his tightly gripping hands. In the end, the bearpaw does not have an opposable thumb, so it cannot actually grab at Grommash’s axe properly. It can only stop it for a split second before the seasoned orc warrior begins to react.
 
However, that split second is all Rognak needs as the transformed orc’s other massive paw comes swinging in from the left and slams into the side of Grommash’s head, sending him flying.
 
His skull ringing, the Warsong Chieftain nevertheless gets to his feet immediately, snarling and shaking his head to shake off the aftereffects of the hit. By the time he’s up, Rognak is no longer a bear, but once again an orc. And the suddenly much more dangerous opponent is staring at Grommash Hellscream with nothing but raw determination in his eyes.
 
Unbidden, despite himself, a slow grin begins to spread across Grom’s face, his bloodlust ignited once more. Perhaps this fight would be even better than he initially thought.

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