• Published 3rd Apr 2014
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The Fate of The Warchief - The Blessed One



When his enemies are at the gates, an overwhelmed Garrosh Hellscream ends up miraculously surviving to fight another day through the efforts of his loyal subordinates, but can he muster the courage to confront the new existence life has dealt him?

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Prologue: Siege of Orgrimmar

Author's Note:

This is my very first fiction of any kind, and I hope you all enjoy it. Also if you find any errors, please notify me.

Furthermore, my brother will be editing and co-writing (spicing up) this story just for good measure, so credit in that aspect goes to him as well.

All rights go unto Blizzard inc. and Hasbro inc.

For any non World of Warcraft players who want to read this, watch this video to better understand whom this cross-over is about.

"Let us begin." Announced the Warchief known as Thrall, his voice carrying wisdom and age that he did not yet have. Garrosh Hellscream could not wait to get this ceremony going, but he was a bit underwhelmed at how few were there to witness the rather important event.

"Are we not going to have more witnesses?" Garrosh asked the retiring Warchief, his curiosity getting the better of him. Thrall looked as though he had been expecting the question, and answered quickly.

"I do not wish to make an event of this. Such frivolities are expensive and merely serve our vanity. But if you wish to have a celebration--" Thrall was cut off by the brown orc, who already regretted asking the question in the first place.

"No, Warchief, this is enough." He responded swiftly. Thrall looked a bit taken aback by Garrosh's hasty switch of opinion, but he continued as planned all the same.

"You know that these are troubling times for the Horde. Our supplies dwindle. Our lands barren. Our warriors in need of rest. These are all tasks that must be addressed for the good of the Horde." Thrall said in a grave manner. Garrosh did not see the list of problems as daunting, nor as hard challenges to over come. He saw them as chances to show the strength of The Horde to the rest of the world.

"Da people be happy wid' our success in Northrend." Spoke the voice of the troll in the room. Garrosh could not believe he had the audacity to say "our" in that sentence. The mere thought of that troll taking any credit for the success of the Northrend campaign had his blood boiling in his veins.

"'Our' success Troll? You played no part in the Horde’s victories in Northrend. While I led my warriors against the Lich King, you merely took back a few useless, scattered islands." Garrosh spat to the foolish troll. The two of them glared daggers at one another as the troll spoke again.

"Watch yerself, young one. Ya don’t--" He was interrupted by an old and gruff voice coming from the corner of the room.

"Garrosh! Vol’jin! Hold your tongues! There are larger issues at stake here." The old blackrock orc by the name of Eitrigg shouted at them. Vol'jin quickly apologized like the coward Garrosh saw he was.

"Forgive me outburst. Warchief, please continue." Said the troll in a somewhat calmer tone than before. Garrosh still shot one last glare in his direction before Thrall continued speaking.

"Despite our success in Northrend, we face serious problems that cannot be solved simply by axe and sword. Earthquakes shake every region. Elementals ravage the countryside as we speak. I can hear our land, Azeroth, cry out in pain." The Warchief explained in a anguished tone; the shaman always hated to see the Elements suffer. Garrosh never really cared for the walking balls of fire, earth, air, and water, but he knew Thrall would leave his throne without hesitation to help them.

"These are the reasons you must leave." Garrosh said. It was not a question, for Garrosh knew from the look in Thrall's eye that he was as good as gone already.

"Yes, I leave for Nagrand to learn from the elements there. They have suffered and seen many of the same symptoms." Thrall spoke through an encouraging smile. Just hearing the name of his home brought memories flooding back to the young warrior, some were good, others were better off left in the confines of the past.

"How long ya gonna be gone?" Asked Vol'jin with a slightly concerned voice. Garrosh also knew that the troll could not wait for Thrall's little getaway to be over and done with, and to be honest, Garrosh couldn't either. Though, the two's reasoning's were very different.

"It may take time to learn what I must. I trust I will not be gone too long, but it could be weeks-- perhaps even months." Thrall hesitated for a moment before continuing. "In my absence, I am leaving you, Garrosh Hellscream, to lead the Horde. You bear the strength and courage that our people need to survive in these troubling times." To hear those words made Garrosh swell with both pride and fear. He had not been what one could call "excited" about this new promotion, but it was one he couldn't refuse.

"I am honored, Warchief. But I feel unprepared for the life of a ruler." Garrosh spoke his mind's true thoughts. He hadn't wanted this, not now, at least.

"You will not be alone. You will have advisers: Cairne, Eitrigg, Vol’jin. They will help guide you. And though I am leaving soon, I can also instruct you." Thrall said in a tone that was filled once again with wisdom. Garrosh liked Eitrigg, Cairne was a bit of a gray area for the young orc, but he knew that he despised Vol’jin with every sense that he possessed.

"A good first test may be dealin’ wit dese cultists. Da people be scared. Dey aren’t sure what’s goin’ on." Speak of the devil, and he shall speak back. Garrosh honestly had no real plan on how to deal with the cultists that plagued and lurked Durotar; so he spoke his mind about ways to deal with them.

"But even we are not sure of all that is happening. Should we capture these cultists and force their silence? That may anger the rest of the people…. But still, we cannot allow the cult to spread fear and lies amongst them…." Garrosh reasoned. His wise and bold statement seemed to impress the three others in the room.

"Now you are thinking like a ruler, Garrosh. You must look at all sides of a problem. Consult with your advisors, and then act with confidence." Said the aged blackrock. Garrosh never doubted that he would become his favorite adviser.

"They will help you Garrosh. And I will help you. I will find the answers that we need to assuage the fears of the people and soothe the elements." The ex-Warchief said with renewed faith and confidence in his choice.

"I will not fail you, Warchief. I will lead as well as I can, and I will consult with the advisers you suggest. I know what a tremendous honor you do me, and I will strive to be worthy of it." He said with all the humility he could muster. It was now official, he was the Warchief of his people, of The Horde. He couldn't truly comprehend it, considering there were some races within The Horde he had barely even seen, let alone know. Doubt was quick to find its place within the pit of Garrosh's stomach.

"Then it is done. Let everything you do from this day forth be done for the Horde." Thrall spoke with renewed vigor. This was it, the moment that had plagued the brown orc's for many nights now, and it was playing out before him.

"For da Horde!"

"For The Horde!"

"For The Horde!" It was done. The throne was now his, and he would do all he could to ensure the survival of his people, of his Horde.


The Warchief stood atop the gates of Orgrimmar, watching the Kor'kron soldiers that were training in his name for the coming storm with outward confidence. A minute barely passed before he heard foot steps breaking the void of sound behind him. he knew who it was, and he did not wish to speak with her right then.

"If you merely wish to tell me how foolish I am, then save your breath for the fight." he grumbled, hoping she would just follow his orders.

"I am not here to fight with you again, my Warchief." She said strangely calmly. "I am here to give you a gift before this.... Battle begins." He turned to her, unsure of what to expect. She looked as she usually did, same worthless mail robe, same blunted ceremonial staff, same oddly-shaped pauldrons, same mystified face cloaked beneath a wolf skull helm (He never understood the shaman's way of dress). Before he could further respond, she approached him, opened his clenched hand, and placed a small carved stone therein it; or so that's all it was to him at the moment.

"What is this stone trinket?" He asked the dark shaman. "Wavebinder Kardris" was her name, or Kardris Dreamseeker, but the title he figured was more fitting.

"It is a rune stone Warchief, it will take the user far from here. To where even I cannot say, but anywhere will be better than here once the battle starts." she stated, her usual gruff disposition seeming to have left her all together; it was odd to say the least. He brought his hand up to his face to closer inspect the "rock" he held in his hand. it gave him a feeling of.... happiness? mirth? He couldn't understand why, but he felt safer with it in his hand, he looked back up to the shaman when she spoke.

"Please take it, if for no other reason than to ease my mind; if you were to die in this battle, then all hope for the True Horde would be lost." Fear, that's what he heard in her voice, but not the fear of death, the fear of the fall of The Horde she served. So he answered.

"I will take it, though I will not need it, your Warchief appreciates this gift." He said as he placed the rune in the pocket of his battle trousers. After he said this, he turned back to watch his Kor'kron work.

"Do you really believe we will win this fight Hellscream?" She inquired in earnest. Had anyone else have called him that, they would have been in a lot of trouble, but given the circumstances, he didn't even notice.

"Yes, we will be victorious." He answered strongly, knowing full well the powers he had taken would be his enemies' undoing. who could even hope to stand against his new armies and powers? None could ever even come close.

"....Then I, and all in Orgrimmar will stand right beside you." No sooner had the words departed from her lips could the war cries of the Dragonmaw soldiers be heard from beyond the gate. In the distance to the West, both Garrosh and Kardris could see Horde and Alliance war ships boarding and assailing the docks. To the South they could see Vol'jin's forces charging straight for the mighty gate of Orgrimmar. "Go Garrosh!" she yelled. "We will do our part!" But before he left, he gave one last roar to his men.

"Show them no mercy! Lok'tar Ogar! For The Horde!" With that last sentiment laid before his men's ears, he retreated down into Ragefire Chasm, the place where he would be victorious, or die.


Back at the gate, a restless Kardris Dreamseeker began her short trek to Grommash Hold where her fellow dark shaman awaited her. The dark shaman was Earthbreaker Haromm, and he was a mighty enhancement shaman at that. Her mind played back through her time with him, and how they had grown as friends since he returned to Orgrimmar from Stonard. He was a true orc. She passed throngs of Kor'kron soldiers that were scrambling to there posts; some even had prisoners with them. She tried to ignore all the commotion as she quickened her pace to the throne room. Once she arrived at the hold, Haromm did not hesitate to ask her how her plan had gone.

"Did he take it? Did the Warchief take the rune, Kardris?" The large orc questioned hastily. Haromm was intimidating to say the least. With his wolf's head mask and broad, furred shoulder gear, he easily doubled the size of a common orc. Also, that said nothing of his monstrous axes that were imbued with dead fire and plagued winds. All in all, he was not going to be a pushover in the inevitable battle.

"He took it, Haromm. We have now done all we can." She mumbled morosely, he was quick to try and brighten her mood.

"....Then we are already victorious, my good friend!" He bellowed with glee and pride.

"I suppose you're right." She cracked him a little smile, before they heard the sounds of fighting coming from the atrium just outside the hold.

"Looks like they are quicker than we thought." He stated before further adding. "It will be an honor to die for the Warchief, and an honor to die with you by my side." Haromm grasped her hand as he spoke, they looked each other in the eyes one last time before what they knew to be their end. He drew his axes, as she removed her staff from her back. They were ready to die for The True Horde.


Garrosh sat upon his throne, waiting for his enemies to arrive, if they even made it that far. In secret, he could not wait for them to arrive, he could not wait to tell them all that they had failed, or to introduce them personally to the product of their failure. However, his mental preparations were halted when he saw his best and most loyal General enter the large, dark room. "Should you not be at the gate to Ragefire Chasm, General?" Hellscream asked his soldier tensely. Nazgrim replied swiftly.

"I'm heading there now, Warchief. I merely wished report that the beach has been taken, and that the juggernaut has fallen. They have made it to Grommash Hold, and they battle the dark shamans as we speak." The report troubled Garrosh, not overwhelmingly though, and especially not outwardly. He knew that there were plenty more monstrous creatures bent on carrying out his every whim standing in the enemy's way.

"Very well, General, go now... and may the ancestors be with you, Nazgrim." He said. Nazgrim looked upon him for but a moment before bowing and taking his leave. When his march led him to the massive doors of the room he stopped, looked straight ahead at attention, and recited.

"Tip of The Horde spear, no greater honor." When his friend was out of sight and the door was closing, Garrosh then spoke more to himself than anyone else.

"Let them come!"


He couldn't believe it; how could he? He was the great Garrosh Hellscream! The Warrior of Warriors, the Champion of Champions, he was the one and only Warchief! This was to say absolutely nothing of the fact that he was imbued with the unbeatable powers of the Sha! How could They have possibly defeated him?! It didn't matter, for soon he would be no more. He would die for his Horde, the True Horde.

"You disappoint me, Garrosh." He heard the unmistakable voice of Thrall say. He didn't want to look up; he didn't need to. He knew his demise was now upon him, a demise from one whom he once called "friend." Were he not so prepared to die, he would have allowed himself to wonder if anything he had once believed in was true at all. The one thing he did know however, was that he would die an orc of the True Horde, and that nothing could happen from that point on to change that. "You are not worthy, of your father's legacy!" This was it, his death; the last words he would hear were words he never wished to hear.

CLANG! "What?" He looked up slowly to see a great sword had stopped Thrall's descending hammer, "His punishment is not for you alone to decide." He saw and heard the King of Stormwind growl.

"I won't let you take him!" Thrall snapped back at him. Garrosh chuckled at their fussings.

"Why stop him human? You would kill me the same way...." He had nothing left to lose, why should he not join in the fun?

"Silence!" Commanded a heavily-accented voice that he'd heard before, that same whelp of a pandaren from the pools stood beyond the two bickerers, "We have all suffered from his atrocities...." Garrosh began to block them all out as he searched his memory for something better to think about. He remembered Nagrand, its floating islands and rolling grassy plains, the land of the Mag'har, his people, the one people he ever should have cared for or loved. He then thought of Northrend and its frozen wastes and towering ice mountains, the land where he had fought harder than anywhere else on Azeroth. He thought of his father, wondering if he would have been proud of any of his achievement.

"You are not worthy!" the words reverberated through his head like a roar through a cave. He had to be wrong! Garrosh thought surely he would be proud of him for decimating so many foes. He also thought of his talks with Kardris, and how right she wa...... The rune!

Mentally slapping himself, he slowly got to his feet with a heavy stagger as his enemies argued amongst themselves, then Garrosh let loose a spine-curdling laugh. "You fools!" He chortled at them as they instantly assumed a fighting stance yet again. He quickly reached into his pocket and took out the rune, grasping it firmly in his hand. "Let this day be known as the day...you...failed!" He clenched the rune as hard as he could, crushing it to dust. In that very second, his enemies watched in dismay as their long-sought target phased away and his armor and clothing fell to the floor with a dull Thud.


Garrosh let the dust of the rune fall from his hand as he looked around. "Where did it take me?" Garrosh thought as his weary eyes beheld green grass, rolling rocky hills, and spectral skies in such a shade as to tell him the time of day was somewhere within late afternoon. His gaze traveled yonder to see a small village in the distance before the horizon. Garrosh then knew where the rune had taken him. Garrosh couldn't believe his sudden stroke of luck as he stared in awe at the familiar sight. Kardris' rune had taken him back to Nagrand, back to the Mag'har, back to Garadar, back home. He ran as fast as his brutalized legs could carry him down the hill upon which he once stood. Garrosh's sprint came to an end as he saw a young Mag'har girl fishing at the fork of the two rivers that ran through the village.

"Finally! Back with my kin!" He declared to all who could hear, but to his surprise, she didn't even look up at him. Slightly confused by this, he tried again. "Hello, young one, my name is Warchief Hellscream." He stated proudly; she still didn't even look at him. He walked up to her while speaking again. "Child! Do you not know when a Warchief speaks to you?" She still just sat there; she could not be blind and deaf and still know how to fish. She was ignoring him! Garrosh's anger started to boil as he raised his hand to strike her upon the top of her head. 'Fool! you know not who you have ang....!" But he was cut short by his hand going straight through her head!

Garrosh stood there dumb-struck for a moment before further waving his hand all around her and through her. "By my axe" He breathed softly to himself. As hundreds of questions flooded through Garrosh's mind, he started looking around for anyone who could possibly answer any one of them, but as his eyes traveled up the hill next to him and into the village, each and every single one was simultaneously answered by the sight of but one thing. There, beneath the village's oaken gazebo, was a brown male orc, his head sporting a brown orc warrior's ponytail, his hands holding two crude axes to his sides, and his back adorned with an ugly, and gaudy cape.

He saw himself, speaking with the very shaman who had just conspired to kill him, the shaman whom he once called friend. He saw the young brown orc roar with ferocity and pride, and then he saw Thrall take his leave. He remembered this day like the back of his hand, the day he learned the truth about his father. How could he forget it? Thousands of stories all ending with the same image of his father bringing shame to him and all his race; that was all he knew up until that very day. All the shame, the death, the dishonor, all undone with extreme prejudice when Grom took "Mannoroth the Flayer's" life. So why was he seeing this play out before his eyes if he remembered it all too well?

Again, his question was answered a little too fast. An orc spirit manifested itself before him and approached him. He also remembered her just as well if not better: The Greatmother Geyah. The one orc for whom he would do anything, one could surely say that if asked, he would gladly and unhesitantly lay down his life and all it stood for for her. If she had asked him to vanquish an entire army single-handedly, or move a gigantic mountain with his bare fists, he would find a way to do so. When she had died, a great part of him had died along with the ever kind and gentle shaman. She may have been the one orc that could have calmed and soothed his most destructive, and violent of urges and rages.

"Greatmother," He bowed to her in pure reverie. "Is this a dream?" He asked, hoping against hope that she could see him, unlike the young orc girl from before.

"No, my young Hellscream, it is not." She spoke with the voice of an angel. Indeed, she could see him. "I have come to you in your hour of need, my child. What is it you wish of me?" She asked compassionately, he stayed bowed as he responded.

"Merely to ask you why I am seeing this, and why I am here" He really wanted to know where his body was, if that rune hadn't just killed him and this was to be his fate. She answered the two he did ask, and the one question he didn't.

"You are here to see what you once were, young one. Look upon what you were before, my child." She said as she reached out to him. With just one touch, she showed him all his time in Nagrand in but a few seconds, and all his time in Northrend even quicker. Caught up in the dream fast bestowed upon him by the shaman, he watched himself grow before his very eyes, all the way from the time before he learned the truth of his father, to the moment he had crushed the rune.

"You were a hero, my child, not the power-hungry monster I see before me now." He winced painfully at those words. "You saved millions," He waited with bated breath for the next unavoidable sentiment. "and then you killed them all." Coming from her, she who would give benefit of the doubt to a demon, she who would never have spoken these words even to the most cruel of souls, those words pierced his heart like a stake, but despite how indescribably awful he felt hearing them, he knew it to be the truth and determined not to outwardly show any sorrow.

He allowed himself to stand up, and to peer closely at himself for all throughout his life. She was right, as always. It filled him inwardly with strife to be told as a misbehaving child would that he was wrong. "As you can now see, you are that hero no longer." As if to strike the final nail of the proverbial coffin in which lay his image, she delivered the verdict unto him. "But all is not lost, dear Hellscream, for you are not dead, nor is this your end. I merely wished to see you once more, even though we will be seeing much of each other on your new journey." She spoke again before he could. "Now, you must be going, for after all, every journey begins with a first step." She said with an encouraging, almost chipper expression. "I'll see you again soon, my Warchief." She smiled as began to fade away, but not before he could call out to her.

"Greatmother wait! I know not what to do from here! What must I do now?!" He besought her as if a child being abandoned.

"Calm yourself, my child; I'll be with you. Nevermore will you ever be alone, and I know you will do the right things." Her voice echoed as she faded from existence. He was left in solitude as all he had come to know as his life slowly passed away to blackness. He conspired to look around at the dying dimension until he too began to fade. He then closed his eyes, and accepted his fate.


Canterlot, the ever mighty city of the sister's of the sun and moon, Its towers of white stone and golden-domed turrets gave a sense of majesty and regality to the scene. As the ponies of this great city went about their daily quests, the Two Sisters ruled them, their land, and all else in it with honor, and kindness. Within the tallest tower of the majestic Canterlot Castle over-looking the city and the vast valley over which it stood, one of the sisters slept peacefully. The one who slumbered at the brink of sunset never really knew why the ponies chose to do their tasks during the hot and blinding day, for she much preferred the cool breath, and soft presence of the night. But obviously, the day was coming to an end, which meant she would soon bear the task of waking to raise the the great, pale, silver sphere that was the moon. However, getting up on her own accord was never something her sister could rely on, so as the eternally-bright ball of fire began its decent, the sun sister, Princess Celestia, was making her way to her sibling's chambers. It had been a rather uneventful day, but waking to raise the sun had taken place many hours ago; this was to remain silent about an uneventful day's multitude of tedious tasks. In short, she looked forward to a good night's rest, one that she knew her sister could well provide, but she first had to complete the most difficult task of the day: Waking Princess Luna. She passed the two Lunar guards outside her chamber door without incident and entered. The room itself she didn't really like; in fact she found it downright foreboding. The walls were all a very dark blue with nearly no furnishments. Within the room, there was little more then a desk, three darkwood waiting chairs, and a small, loaded bookshelf nestled against the far wall, all shrouded by two large gothic draperies on each of the two windows, but if Luna liked it, she would vow never to voice any of that opinion. This task she detested most, waking her peaceful little sister. Celestia truly didn't want to do what she had to everyday, so she watched her sleep just for a few minutes. But after almost falling asleep herself within the unlit chamber, she knew she could delay no longer. "Luna, wake up, little sister." She spoke as softly as she could. Luna was far from a deep sleeper; she instantly opened her eyes with a short inhale and cracked a drowsy smile.

"Good evening, sister." She said rubbing her eyes with a hoof. "Is it time?" she asked that same question nearly every evening; it made Celestia think that her sister had gotten herself into a psychological routine. She didn't know if that was good or bad; all she could do was hope it wasn't the latter.

"Yes, sister, it is. Now go and awe our subjects with your star-filled sky once more." She encouraged with her soft, ever present smile. Luna gently nodded and stretched, then trotted to her balcony, yawning as she did so, to initiate her nightly show.


Luna sat upon what was her throne in what was her court for the night; to her, it was nothing like the old castle in which they both once dwelled in centuries past, the old castle that held and kept so many dear and horrible memories within its walls. the glorious room's walls were adored with stained glass windows, most displaying the the image of a lone sun goddess or depicting the image of an Equestria united, but some hinting vaguely to the history of the Lunar Republic. It was once an equal power in the world to Celestia's Empire, now it was nothing more than a small, unnoticed part of the United Equestrian Federation.

Surprisingly, the past was not something occupying Luna's mind at the moment, for her mind was far too focused on how much she despised Night Court. Though it made up the majority of her ever-lasting life, it described it even more aptly. It was always unbearably desolate. Seldom did anyone ever even show up; it had not changed since some time before her banishment one thousand years ago, why should she ever have expected differently? In a way, she'd suspected it'd be worse now on the premise that her banishment so many centuries ago had since rendered the validity of Night Court liquidated. Only "Once in a blue moon" did anypony ever attend, and it was usually a thestral (A fellow creature of the night) from the Hollow Shades (The one settlement truly left in her care.) But tonight was going to be a little different.

Bored with waiting endlessly as she usually did, she resorted to at least settling her stomach's feud with her. She was just finishing her second mildly-unhealthy snack, when she started feeling profoundly unwell. At first she thought the food was at fault, but that view soon changed due to a number of things: Her heart fluttered dangerously, as if about to cease beating all together; her head throbbed immensely, and her hooves and wings shook uncontrollably. It was in the moment of all this that she felt the presence of something, something dark, something very strong, something very angry. In a fit of pain and shock she fell from her throne, rolling down a few of the stairs that preceded it.

"Your Highness!" One of her guards quickly rushed over to help her back to her hooves. "Are you alright, Milady?" He asked with a fearful and worried voice; she did not take long to respond.

"We are fine, guardsman, but send us our Elites; We've a mission for them." she said as she got back on her throne, the pained vision playing back though her mind. In the vision, she saw some sort of colossal entity standing menacingly before an horizon unmistakable as that of a desert, and it looked far from friendly.


"You fools!" Shouted Jaina Proudmoore as she stormed into the middle of the room. "How could you just stand there and let that mongrel get away?!" She screeched before her rant was cut short by her own king.

"Enough!" He yelled. "We did all we could, but we must spread out to find him." He declared. "Guardsmen!" He ordered. As he readied his men, The Horde leaders spoke amongst themselves.

"I'm sorry Thrall, I be tinkin' we should start searchin' as well. Dat be a rune stone Hellscream used; he couldn't a got far." Said Vol'jin, Thrall quickly responded.

"We will search, as long as you are the one to lead us Vol'jin." The troll was confused by the Warchief's statement.

"Ya be back Thrall, you be leadin' us now, no?" Vol'jin asked to which the orc shook his head, as he went to one knee.

"It was You that held The Horde together during this madness. Henceforth, if you lead, I will follow." The great shaman spoke unto his new leader of The Horde. The troll simply stared at Thrall incredulously, for he could no longer tell if this was a dream or a nightmare.

"I--I, am not worthy." After saying this, Vol'jin looked around the room to his fellow leaders in the hopes of garnering something from them, whether it be Approval or rejection. One by one, they all gave either their bows or their nods to who was undoubtedly approved as their New Warchief. "But I will give my all...." He bowed back to his friends. "....For Da Horde." Only a few seconds passed before the commanding voice of King Varian Wrynn was heard all throughout the room.

"I will speak to your Warchief!" The orc grunts parted to reveal Vol'jin standing in the center of the Horde leaders much to Varian's inward surprise.

"I speak for Da Horde." The troll stated proudly whilst glaring spears at the foreign king, Varian replied after casting a long glance at Thrall.

"Very well" The king conceded, he then began to walk forward as he spoke. "The Horde has committed heinous crimes, Vol'jin." He jammed his sword into the wooded floor and stopped right in front of the new Warchief. "But as I understand it, some of you fought against Garrosh's tyranny." He looked the troll dead in the eye before speaking again. "For that, I am willing to end this bloodshed." he concluded, now turning as he spoke. "But know this..." He continued as walked back to his sword. "If your horde fails to uphold honor, as Garrosh's did." He drew his sword from the floor in one strong, swift motion as he ultimately stated his sanction. "We will end you!" He walked onward followed by his son and his men, out of Grommash Hold.

With Alliance soldiers gone, and a new order established, The Horde leaders began what would be many debates, thinking of different ways to locate their "missing" Warchief.