The Fate of The Warchief

by The Blessed One

Chapter 11: Bonding With Bodyguards

When Garrosh sluggishly awoke, he didn't know what time it was, nor did he truly care. He was confident that the relief of success he felt before the brightened eyes of Dinky Doo was enough to shield him from almost any coming adversity this day. In his eyes, He'd kept his reputation intact and had made amends, or at least he was well on his way to doing so. With the profound resolve to rise and conquer yet another day in this extraordinary new world, he was just about to get to his feet when he felt something lightly shift about within the crook of his right arm. He looked down to see that little Dinky Doo had not only climbed out of her window sometime in the night, but had also grabbed her blanket to sleep outside in his arms.

"...You certainly are a quaint and adorable creature." He chuckled a bit at his own queer thoughts. The battle-hardened orc supposed with certainty that if any hapless Azerothian were to witness such a spectacle as this, they would have truly believed themselves to be hallucinating in the most silly of ways. "Hmph, pity they would not live to tell anyp...." The orc's thoughts froze for a moment, realizing the obvious. "Was I really about to say that?" The orc asked himself incredulously. "Is that insufferable variation of the human language really that potent?" His mind continued to question irritably. He decided to embrace the reaction that was the most mentally healthy for him and ignored it; annoyed with himself, he then turned his attention towards the sleeping filly within his arms.

The Warchief ever so slowly scooped the small foal up and gently placed her back in her bed, rewrapping her in her blanket soon after. To his amazement, Dinky didn't wake from the movement, for the most she did was shift again. Shutting the window to her bedroom quietly, he then set about waking himself up. He stretched out his back, earning dozens of loud, peeving Pops. He cracked his stiff neck, earning even more of the same. As he stood up to full height, poised to walk around the house both to stretch out his legs and check on his new escorts, he was legitimately startled by a very unwanted sound, a sound that pierced his eardrums, a sound of which he thought he'd heard the last: Another scream.

"AAAAAAHHH!"

His signature scowl quickly found its way onto his face as he whirled around to where the annoying sound had come from. His eyes scanning balefully, he quickly located the source of the confounded noise. Standing a meager twenty feet from him among the vegetables of the garden next door was the terrified frame of a goldenrod mare, her flank bearing what Garrosh assumed to be the vegetables amongst which she was now standing, her puffy, curly mane a rustic orange. She looked as though she'd been happily irrigating her produce with an old watering can (now resting upon the ground) held in her mouth right before she saw him.

"Truly, truly! Truly you must be joking! Not only have next to none of you a spine, but your first line of defense against something you deem frightening is to make a sound that would only make it all the more tempting for it to rip your throat from your neck!?" He shouted more irritably than furiously. Surprisingly, the female pony was now looking a bit sheepish due to his choice of wording. "Must all of you infernal horse creatures react to my presences in this same damned way!?" He yelled again, stamping his foot hard enough to create a small crater in the earth. "Am I to endure the same torture for every new face I see here!?" He blustered on, making the poor defenseless mare repeatedly flinch. "Ancestors be my witness when I say that if The Greatmother had not have stopped me from destroying everyone who ever stood in my way, I--" Suddenly catching himself, Garrosh realized that he'd just now engaged in his very first verbal rant since arriving to this place, and it was far too early for setting that kind of record. His rant would end abruptly there, as he found massaging one of his throbbing temples to be a far more enticing a choice than continuing it. The pony had recoiled considerably, extremely nervous as she had lowered herself in an impulsive attempt to seem more feeble and inert, but she did, to her credit, try to make up for what she saw now as her rudeness.

"I-I... I'm s-sorry; I-it's just that... you d-don't look like the f-friendliest... p-p-pony around." She managed to stuttered out. The sentiment was flimsy at best, but the look in her emerald eyes (Which were, as usual, ridiculously huge by this point) told the orc that her apology was indeed sincere.

Garrosh grunted as his arm abruptly fell from where it was rubbing the side of his head, looking at her with plainly grumpy eyes. "Hmph! Perhaps next time you'll make certain it is an enemy standing before you before you decide to make anymore infuriating noises just to see what happens, and as for another matter, I am not a pony." He muttered, his tone of voice gradually growing more deadpanned. She whispered out another "sorry" as she rose from her basically prone position in her vegetable garden and began to back up towards her house's back door. Garrosh heard what sounded like... laughing? Giggling? He turned to Dinky's window to find that she was now hanging out of it, wide awake and laughing at him! Garrosh shook his hunching head as he cracked a very small smirk at the whole situation; this simply had to be the weirdest morning of his life. What had made Hellscream decide that this was the strangest morning in his lifetime was not merely Dinky laughing at him or the minuscule mental breakdown he'd just suffered with the vegetable gardener, but the fact that he knew deep down that he was actually starting to grow used to these crack-potted beings. "Perhaps... Perhaps they are not so irredeemably pathetic after all; just look at what this child is doing now. Even an orcling from Orgrimmar has yet to grow fond of me in any sense." He mused a bit as he stood there, suddenly finding himself a tad homesick.

"That's Carrot Top, our neighbor. She's really nice once you get to know her." Dinky said as she waved cheerfully at the goldenrod/orange mare. "Good morning, Miss Carrot Top!" She called out blithely to the aforementioned mare. The earth pony mare named Carrot Top shakily waved back at the little filly, sporting a weak, forced smile before skittering inside her home as fast as possible. "...See?"

"Yes, I see that she is friendly to the likes of you, little one, something that is not very difficult to do." Garrosh retorted, almost as though an affectionate father. "Should you not be getting ready to start the day?" He asked, trying to coax the filly from the windowsill.

"Yeah, I've gotta get ready for school, but not before a nice, filling breakfast." The cute little filly recited; no doubt it was something her mother often said. If it was even believable, Garrosh, a humungus hearty orc, had somehow forgotten anything to do with breakfast, so thoroughly so that just its mere mentioning prompted his stomach to growl uncontrollably. "You won't leave while I brush my teeth, right?" She urgently asked before she hopped off the windowsill into her room, bouncing off her bed shortly after. Garrosh smiled sincerely for the first time that day before speaking quite confidently.

"As I said, little one: A true orc always keeps his word."

"Okay!" She cheered with a giggle, a youthful smile overtaking her soft features. She skipped merrily out of the room and out of his line of sight. Looking around briefly as if gaining his bearings and taking in his surroundings, Garrosh suddenly remembered what he was doing before the gardener known as Carrot Top interrupted him. Finally seeing nothing else to stop or preoccupy him, he trudged lightly around to the front of the small abode to check up on the status of his new "bodyguards." Upon arriving at the house's front yard, he soon came to the realization that he was left wholly unguarded. They were nowhere to be seen; they weren't even in the near vicinity to Garrosh's eyes.

Seeing as how he was truly left in peace for the first time since his tedious envoy, and just how rare an opportunity this truly was, he took these few moments to relax a bit as he quietly plopped himself down the slump against a front portion of the home and closed his eyes. Seeing that his groggy mind could conjure nothing to take his thoughts off the boggling situation in which he had found himself, he soon grew restless of trying. Eventually all but giving up trying to make use of the rare quiet moment, he reopened his tired eyes and again took in his surroundings.

The house's front yard itself was rather lacking in terms of decoration, the only noticeable ornament being a small bird bath, which at the moment stood stagnant and lifeless. Garrosh's eyes slowly trailed back down to his own lap to look at his scarred, pierced arms and callous hands. Taking in few careful whiffs of air through his nostrils, it came to his attention that he would probably have to find somewhere to take a bath soon, as he was beginning to pick up his own scent. It was something that made Garrosh angrier and angrier the longer he thought about it. This was to say nothing of how hungry he discovered he was, and no matter how hard he endeavored, his thoughts would always settle back down onto that fact. Needless to say, he wasn't any longer feeling very chipper this morning, for a hungry orc is a grumpy orc.

Opening his wearied eyes, he still continued looking around silently, regardless of his lingering hunger. He knew not the exact timing, but whatever it was, it was definitely early. Yes, the sun had risen high, yes, the mist and morning fog enshrouding much of the rolling hills of this land had by now all but faded away, but it was still early enough as to where he saw no one outside their homes as of yet, not a single one. He supposed it was that time of morning where everyone was either still enwrapped in sleep, or preparing themselves to begin their day, grooming, gearing up, or eating breakfast and such. Once again, at even the slightest thought of any meal-related ritual, Garrosh's stomach began to kick and scream at him. He wouldn't even think of saying anything against her, but he did so wish that Dinky would hurry up with her teeth brushing; his stomach felt like it was imminently to tear through his abs, leap from his belly, and go rampaging through the desolate dirt roads. The very last thing he wanted to relive or even remember at the moment, was how close he came to collapsing out in this land's desert from lack of food, water, and hope. Clenching his eyes shut and hanging his head once more, he groaned as he silently cursed his luck for promising Dinky that he wouldn't leave the premises, for if he could, he knew that he could, at the very least, solve his hygiene-related dilemma. He could even hear the babbling of a nearby brook in which he could wash himself off, but no, he would not risk damaging his reputation yet again.

Just then, as Garrosh was stewing over his heavily conflicted brain, he suddenly heard the flutter of feathered wings in close proximity. At first inferring that it was probably one or both of his "escorts," his eyes instantly snapped back open and began looking around. Feeling puzzled that there was neither sight nor trace of any Pegasi in the area, his eyes slowly trailed to the one bit of movement that was in his line of sight. There, perched anew upon the threshold of the stone bird bath, was a lone crow-like bird preparing itself for a leisurely rinse.

There were a few inspired, choice words with which one could describe the winged creature: Forlorn, dark, majestic, healthy, but to Garrosh, only one word struck the mind resoundingly: Scrumptious. With the fairly sizable scavenger preening its inky black wings, faced unwarily away from where the orc sat, it gradually became a more resolute, unyielding fancy to simply spring forward and ensnare the unwatchful creature. The orc positively knew not how the continual growl of his spasming stomach hadn't alerted the bird to his presence, but it was something of which he sought to take full advantage. The longer he sat staring at the wretched animal, the more the primal, barbaric, instinctive beast began to take him over until there was not a single reason he could think of for not not indulging in it, not even how disrespectful it would appear if he were caught. So, without giving it a second thought (or even a first for that matter) the famished orc quickly lunged from his seated position, lashing his hand out as though a cobra striking its rodent victim, snagging the bird firmly by its right wing. Garrosh then reeled his hand inward so incredibly fast that the poor creature had time to let loose but one, helpless squawk before he wrenched its fragile neck from its hold, silencing it for good.

Holding the broken carcass in his hand, and content with a successful stealth kill, he briefly glanced around to make absolutely sure that it was indeed a stealth kill. Still desolate were the streets and windows of the sleepy town, save for that same lone, yellow stallion with a trio horseshoe cutie mark he'd seen the night before crossing one of the streets in the distance. Judging by the poor stallion's spent, crumpled posture, his slow, weary trudge of a walk, and the monstrous dark circles sagging beneath his glazed eyes, he'd been up all that night sweeping the courtyard of town hall.

"Pitiful, he must be truly desperate to scrounge out a living..." The Warchief thought to himself, lightly shaking his head. Unsurprisingly, the stallion hadn't seen what grotesque massacre Garrosh had just enacted; Garrosh didn't even think he'd seen him. The orc sat stalk-still as the stallion passed, not wanting to attract his attention, though he doubted that he would notice him in his state, even if he were moving. Just as quickly as the stallion had appeared, he disappeared between two of the many whimsical homes of the nearby neighborhood.

After a short wait just in case, he started offhandedly stretching the bird out to better display its belly, only to become rather nonplussed when his harsh ministrations to the carcass resulted in the thing's head rolling off of its shoulders onto the ground.

"Perhaps... I do not know my own strength." He thought idly after a few dazed seconds of looking down at the head. Seeing as how probably no one in the overly-innocent town of Ponyville would take kindly to discovering the head of a crow lying in their front yard under any circumstances (especially these,) and seeing as how he couldn't really eat such a thing, the careless orc simply resorted to chucking the useless body part in the general direction of the treeline from which he first entered the tiny town, leaving whether or not anyone would find the thing up to pure chance. Wiping the bit of blood on his hand from what remained of the creature's neck on the grass beside him, he gave a small shrug before turning his attention back to his morning snack. Given that the thing was just a mere morsel in size, even with the feathers still on, Garrosh almost figured it'd be a waste of his time, but then he realized that this might just be the last time he would eat meat for a fairly long while, even if it wasn't even cooked. Grabbing hold of a fist-full of the bird's belly feathers, he ripped them all out easily, at least securing a convenient biting place on it. After doing this several times, he quickly settled for stuffing the incriminating feathers into the house's unkempt shrubbery next to him to hide all evidence.

"If you value what relations you have with ponykind, I suggest you not do that again." He heard a monotonous voice from above him on the rooftop say. Garrosh didn't even need to raise his head and face him before retorting.

"Why the worry, Lieutenant? Do you fear they will attempt to arrest me again?" He spat as he resumed his work. Garrosh knew full well that it was Wave chill, for only one pony he'd heard so far sounded regularly like a living wet blanket.

"Not at all, Warchief, but getting caught doing things like this would not earn you any favor with the locals. I couldn't care less for a single bird, but they would." Chill explained with all the manner of a correctional officer. Garrosh didn't much feel like discussing anything involving those bizarre locals, especially with the likes of Wave Chill, so he just opted to change the subject.

"Speaking of a little bird for which you would care not, where is your Shadowbolt counterpart?" Garrosh asked nonchalantly. "Did you kill her off already?" The orc snickered after saying that, hoping to get a rise out of the sentient statue with what he hoped was a joke.

"No, Warchief, we knew you were going to stay here all night, so she voted to take the night-watch. She fell asleep a few hours ago." He stated, again without any discernible emotion. Garrosh keenly noted that he always responded or spoke as if he were talking to a superior. This disposition of his reminded him much of Malkorok, and he was actually starting to like it.

"Well, I do hope you and your teammates are ready for a trip following breakfast, for we are heading to the mountain city." Garrosh stated calmly as he finished plucking the majority of the bird's feathers from its body. Wave Chill's aloof demeanor faltered only slightly at this statement, but it quickly regained.

"Warchief, we had strict orders to keep you here until the Princesses returned from Canterlot, after fulfilling more imminent duties." He explained, his words lacking a little of their usual calmness. Garrosh remembered the name Canterlot; it was the name that Dinky had given the city the night before. Still, he supposed that he couldn't be too careful with his information.

"Canterlot, the mountain city?" The orc asked the lieutenant, looking up at his position atop the house's roof for the first time since their conversation began. After a brief moment of confusion due to the orc's strange wording, the Wonderbolt gave an affirmative, if uncertain nod. "Perfect, then that is where we too shall go, Lieutenant. Wake your "friend" if you wish; we will be leaving in an hour or two." Garrosh commanded, making it transparently clear that he was not engaging in a debate over it.

"....Very well, Hellscream." Chill reluctantly conceded, abandoning the very thought of convincing the orc to do otherwise. Garrosh gave the pegasus a gruff grunt and nod as if to say "good" before he lifted the pale, freshly-plucked body of the crow up to his mouth to take his first bite, prompting Wave Chill almost to avert his eyes in silent disgust, but right before he could, a little purple head poked its way through one of the second story windows to call down to him.

"Breakfast's ready, Mr. Garrosh!" She joyfully chimed, blissfully ignorant of the decapitated bird Garrosh had just so frantically hid on the side of him opposite her view. "Sorry I took so long; forgot to pack my books for school. Anyway, I asked Mom, and she said we could have breakfast in the backyard like a picnic so we won't have to pass food through the windows." She jabbered excitedly, then suddenly craning her neck to look up at the lieutenant with the same joyous grin. "You can come too, Mr. Chill!" Finishing her invitation, she just as quickly withdrew her head from the window, leaving an arch-browed Wonderbolt wondering how in the world she knew he was there, and an orc growling frustratedly as he tossed the meat he knew he wasn't going to be allowed to eat into the nearby shrub.

"I'm invited to this, Warchief?" Wave Chill asked skeptically, not entirely sure he was buying into it.

"You heard her." Hellscream grumbled simply, still quite angry after having gone through all that work to end up with nothing. After a moment of random thought, looking up at Chill through the corner of his vision, Garrosh had one last little trick to try and get under the living statue's stony skin.

"I think I shall just call you 'Malkorok' for now; it seems fitting."

---

Out in the backyard, a fairly sizable red and white checkered table cloth was laid forth by Dinky (with the help of her mother before she scrambled happily back inside to begin bringing out the food) as the orc and Wonderbolt made their way to the scene.

"Are you not going to wake the other one, Lieutenant?" He had disinterestedly asked Chill as they both sat down at two of the blanket's corners.

"She fell asleep just a few hours ago; it'd be cruel to her to wake her now, and cruel to me to subject myself to anymore of her than I should." He had responded as the orc snickered at him, Chill being quite unaware of the figure of deprecated humor he'd just made of himself. As Ditsy brought out breakfast's main course, Garrosh could have sworn he saw Wave Chill grow a bit nervous. Try as he might, he just couldn't guess why a few of those oddly-shaped, sweetened bread pastries Ditsy had shown him just a day ago would provoke such a strange reaction from the militant Pegasus. He just sat there, staring at them, as if he didn't know what else to do with them, and again, Garrosh couldn't figure out why. It was only when Ditsy brought out two other dishes (namely a few bowls of oatmeal mush and some pieces of dry, toasted bread,) did Garrosh finally deduce what he was thinking. The key gesture from the Wonderbolt when she brought these things out was a barely noticeable sigh of relief, as if it were held in in suspense. He was health-conscious. After Chill had started moving some of the dry toast to his plate following voicing his thanks, the bright smile Ditsy gave him soon turned to a look of perplexity as she looked down at the bread. After a few seconds of staring, she suddenly gasped in realization.

"Oops! I forgot the butter!" She exclaimed in mild alarm, only for the lieutenant to calm her back down.

"It's alright, miss; I like it this way." He assured her before taking a large bite out of one of the pieces as proof, prompting an eye-roll from Garrosh, and an amused giggle from Dinky as she sat down. Yes, he was extremely health-conscious indeed.

"Oh..." Ditsy said simply before the smile once again slowly returned to her face. "O-okay..."

"Pitiful, warriors fighting hearty battles should feast upon hearty meals, and they call themselves military? Hmph, pitiful." The prideful orc thought before he and the rest of them started digging in.

It may have mostly just been more of those "muffins" he'd recently encountered, but Garrosh could not recall a more enjoyable breakfast in all his long years of life. The stories he and Dinky had exchanged across the picnic blanket were priceless; hearing all about a group of three fillies called "The Cutie Mark Crusaders" made him laugh more sincerely than he had in a very long time. The "C.M.C." as they were called, partook in many, many a wacky and crazy adventure, some of which even Dinky had been a part. Even Ditsy, or "Derpy" to her friends and loved ones as Garrosh had come to know, had hosted a sleepover with her daughter and the three members of the crusade, and according to her, it was one of the worst mistakes she had ever made, not that it didn't make for one hell of a story to tell.

Dinky had asked Garrosh to share a few adventures and stories of own, but of course, for the sake of both her and her mother, the orc was careful to keep only to the "safer" tales, ones with semi-happy endings, not wanting to ruin the morning for the mare and filly; Wave Chill, for his part, didn't have all that much to say, as usual, but nevertheless, he listened intently. The Warchief told the mother and daughter the story of how he slayed the monstrous dragon deep within cavernous bowels of the Everfree forest, and how he had defeated Thunderhooves: Chieftain of the buffalo, in a duel for Appaloosa's plunder. His last tales were of how he battled the wooden wolves (or "timber wolves" as he soon found out from the lieutenant,) the ravenous, roving wyvern, the loyal Wonderbolts, the shady Shadowbolts, and even their very own Elements of Harmony. He made a point to tell all of them just how stupid he thought the name "Elements of Harmony" sounded for such a powerful, omnipotent set of artifacts, to which was Wave Chill's turn to roll eyes.

Through all these high jinks that both baffled and bewildered the mother and daughter, however, Garrosh's hearty morning would be slightly dampened yet, not by any story of his telling mind you, but by several corresponding stories Dinky told him of the schemes and humiliations wreaked upon her and her friend by the two school fillies known as "Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon." The stories of how they made fun of and belittled not only Dinky, but the three crusaders and the rest of the school children Dinky knew were not accurately stories to be frank, but were more akin to that of a daily damage report, one that made even her mother cringe. Derpy had consistently spoken to their teacher, Miss Cheerilee, about the numerous incidents, only for her to find no evidence left by the fillies of such acts in the end. It was downright infuriating to the likes of Garrosh, and as if all this were not enough, when Ditsy had gone back into the house to wash dishes, he found his muscles clenched in seething rage as he learned from Dinky of some of the names they had called her mother, and how they always thought they were far better than all others merely for their supposed "privileged lifestyles;" this, of course, was to say nothing of how they constantly and consistently bedeviled the four of them about their lack of cutie marks, always telling them that they were worthless, having no talent whatsoever, and how they themselves were far better than them for achieving their own marks already. The orc had kept mostly silent for all of Dinky's explanations, but that was soon to change, even if he had to say something to her that her mother wouldn't likely approve of. Garrosh simply had to say something, for when he saw the innocent little filly so depressed and downtrodden, it frightened him to think of what would happen should he ever get a chance at those who made her like that, even if they were just two, bratty children. Though he still said nothing, Garrosh could also tell that it angered Wave Chill beyond belief, so potently so that he politely excused himself from the blanket to go find something else to do. When he was absolutely sure that Ditsy would be gone for awhile doing dishes, and that the Wonderbolt would be absent waking Starry Skies on the rooftop, Garrosh leaned in towards Dinky to speak in a surprisingly hushed tone.

"Now you hear this, little one. I have seen my share of worlds in my time and can tell you this: There was not one without its share of tormentors. As of this moment, you've but two choices you can make." The orc then held up a hand with one finger outstretched to emphasize his coming point. "One: You may choose to kneel, to surrender, to cower unto them, granting them victory against you time and time again, and willingly making yourself a slave to their devices." Just as quickly as one finger rose, a second joined by its side. "Or two: You stand tall before them, and show them no fear and that their words mean nothing, that actions would speak louder than they ever could. That being said, I can also tell you this: No refugee ever won back his home, nor prisoner ever gained back his freedom, by falling to his knees before his enemies." The Warchief fixed his gaze with hers intently. "So tell me, young Dinky, what do you think you must do?" The filly being questioned seemed almost hypnotized by his inspiring words, the sudden question snapping her from her stupor.

"Wow...." She breathed in reverie, her eyes still locked with the now smirking orc. "Okay, I get the picture, and... I... I'll try to do my very best." She promised him with a new-found hope as she bounded over the picnic blanket to wrap what she could of him in a hug. Garrosh was utterly astounded by what this little soul could reduce him to so easily; what Dinky could do with so little effort could make him forget that he was himself, if only for a moment. Chuckling surprisingly at this affectionate display, he reassured her more softly than he had before.

"In the end, little one, I would hope that you not allow them to rob you of the joy of your youthful days." The orc murmured, closing his eyes as he lay an uncharacteristically soft hand upon her tiny back.

"I won't, not when I've got you and Mom!" She assured the orc as she looked up at him with a confident happiness he had not seen since his days in Nagrand.

"Right then, you had best get going; your mother would not look kindly on you missing lessons."

---

After breakfast had ended, Garrosh had told Ditsy and Dinky (shortly before she bounded excitedly off to school) very quickly of his plans to visit Canterlot, but he reassured them that he, and all accompanying him, would return swiftly. Unbeknownst to the both of them, the orc had a brand-new mission in mind as soon as he returned from Canterlot. It would be a surprise that would work flawlessly, as Dinky would still be in school by the time he returned. He was about to become the ultimate, greatest, most legendary "Show and Tell" object that school had ever seen or would ever see again! Having to keep himself from giving out a diabolical chortle at this surprisingly petty, uncharacteristic scheme of his, he was just about to exit the yard's premises bound for the street to wave down his two body guards when Derpy suddenly called out a question from the kitchen.

"Um, I seem to be missing a bowl, and I know I didn't drop it (this time.) Do you see it lying around somewhere?" She yelled up, sounding only slightly concerned. Garrosh's first instinct was to look to the picnic blanket where it most likely would have been, but looking there, he found no traces of it, even anywhere in the near vicinity. He was just about to answer Derpy's question when he overheard a conversation taking place on the roof.

"Don't even start to read anything into this; I just don't want your low blood sugar weighing us down." He heard the lieutenant say in a revealingly defensive tone. What he heard next was the unmistakably provocative voice of Starry Skies, and as if it were even possible, even when just waking up, her tone sounded just as drippy as ever.

"Mmm, say all you want, soldier colt, I know that's not all this means. Why else would it have taken so little for me to convince you to let me take the night watch? You know, the one where I watch you sleep, the one where you're all vulnerable and helpless to my..." She laughed coquettishly before revealing the key word in her depraved mind. "ministrations."

Garrosh heard nothing from Wave Chill in response to the equine vixen's shameful remark, and soon heard a smug, satisfied giggle from the Shadowbolt as his silence persisted. The orc genuinely would not have been surprised if the stone-cold Wonderbolt were nonchalantly tugging at his jumpsuit's collar, an off-looking shade of red adorning his lifeless blue features. Finally, after Garrosh was somewhat certain Starry's attention had gone back to the oatmeal the lieutenant had just brought her from the picnic, he heard him speak up for himself.

"Yes, well, a real gentlecolt allows a mare to keep up whatever delusions she suffers from, not that you would know what a gentlecolt actually was. Just finish it quickly, we've got a long day ahead of us." He said, regaining his no doubt dented composure. Acting as though he'd said nothing except, "we've got a long day ahead of us," she hurriedly swallowed down a mouth-full of oatmeal before replying.

"What do you mean 'long day?' All we have to do is foalsit the irritable, brown meat head until the princesses get back from selling the whole world whatever political scam they managed to cook up." She plied him with a cynical casualness. After she'd said that, the only thing keeping Garrosh from caving the roof in and smashing the mouthy minx down into the house's basement (if it had any) was the fact that it was Derpy and Dinky's household. The lieutenant, for his part, found her question rather opportune.

"It's odd that you'd mention the princesses, because that's exactly where 'Warchief' is planning to go." His voice grew noticeably more hushed when speaking those words, though the same could not be said for the other as of that moment.

"To Canterlot?! Hey, hold up; I don't like where this is going." She spoke just on the verge of shouting, poised to interrogate Wave Chill further about what he'd heard, but thankfully, she would never get that chance.

"Nonetheless, it is where you shall go if you wish to follow your captain's orders." Garrosh's voice boomed just a bit louder than it should have. The response was almost instant; Starry quickly peeked her head over the edge of the rooftop, clearly just finishing up her breakfast, to look down at the disgruntled orc below.

"Oh, come on! I'm fairly sure at least part of the deal you made with Nightshade was to stay here until the royalty got back." She protested. Garrosh found it strange yet fortuitous that the deal made with Spitfire and Nightshade had not included a single requirement to stay where he was. It reminded him of just how dumb these creatures were; if they believed that he was simply going to cater to their assumed wishes, go according to their rules of civilization, or not take full advantage of any bargain-related loopholes that they had left open for him in their lack of foresight, they were grossly mistaken. This all being said, there truthfully was no part of the bargain that barred him within the boundaries of Ponyville, but Hellscream wasn't about to pander completely to her whining.

"Then you are gravely mistaken; there was no part that said this; and seeing as how you are separated from your command, you will just have to take me for my word. Until you can reach them, and if you don't want to be left behind, I suggest you fall in and follow this irritable, brown, meat head." Garrosh told her with an indignant snort from his nostrils as he reached up onto the roof and unceremoniously snatched the empty bowl from her hooves, turning to return the dish to a patiently waiting Derpy. Starry, having recovered from both The Warchief's sudden jab at her earlier remark and the smug snigger given behind her back by the Wonderbolt, pinched the bridge of her snout with a hoof as she sighed.

"Well, there goes the ploy that your 'illustrious' sun goddess is probably feeding the press right about now." With that said, she and the lieutenant apathetically hopped from the roof while Garrosh returned the dish to to host of the morning meal, Starry alighting to the ground back hooves first with all the profound gracefulness of a butterfly, whereas Chill landed with more of a rough-and-tumble thud.

The Warchief then bade the kind mail mare farewell with the full intent of returning by sunset before he slowly turned to begin marching in the direction of forlorn peak upon which the mountain city known as Canterlot was crested, leaving the Derpy to trot back inside to prepare for her job. Now, Garrosh couldn't quite be sure, but he could have sworn he'd heard the clatter of glass breaking and the phrase "Oh, for crying out loud!" whined shortly thereafter behind him. He knew full well what it could be, but not wanting to take up anymore of his or her time, his decision was made in favor of continuing his stride. The two Bolts soon formed up on him, falling into step with each other as they composed something of a "V" formation with the massive orc as they marched.

"Now then, you two, lead me to this city's tram so that I may finally be on my way." Hellscream issued suddenly in-stride, but was met only with a stunned sort of silence. That was, until Chill spoke up.

"....What?" Was all he managed to force out.

"The tram leading to the mountain city, I see it leading there off in the distance." He said, pointing yonder just to the right of where Canterlot hung forth. What he said was true; if one looked long enough at the slope of the mountain, they could see the outline of a series of winding tracks all gradually leading up to the Canterlot's foundation. The ignorant orc just didn't know the proper terminology for the thing that rode these rails. Starry Skies slowly opened her mouth, looking like she was about to correct this error on Hellscream's part, when she was interrupted by the synchronized landing of a hodgepodge of different jumpsuited Pegasi before them.

"Finally! Who'd of thought you of all things would hard to find in this place." The still-fairly raspy voice of Nightshade rang out, cutting through the morning air like a knife. "He's not giving you too much trouble, is he Sky?" She asked, suddenly directing her attention towards Starry Skies.

"Why never, He's been a peach, haven't you, handsome?" She answered sultrily with a question shot Garrosh's way. The increasingly irate orc, having had it up to just about here with her mock flirtations, gave a low, menacing growl from the side of his mouth before he made a fake attempt to lunge down at her, making her flinch so hard at the feigned lash-out that she was hovering in flight by the end of her dodge. Still, it didn't deter her from letting forth a satisfied titter at him. "See?" She once again spoke to her leader, gesturing toward Garrosh with a hoof as if to demonstrate some kind of nonexistent good behavior. "Just peachy."

It was by this time that Hellscream had elected to ignore her, seeing as how he'd probably only make a fool of himself trying to catch her so he could snap her neck. He chose instead to evaluate the status of what had just landed before him. As far as he could tell, the two flight teams looked little to no worse for ware; the only difference he could make out was the absence of two party members (not including the crazed one he'd hospitalized:) The Wonderbolts' captain Spitfire, and the Ghostly white stallion with whom he'd fought gallantly. He was just about to ask one of the Wonderbolts of what had become of their leader when the lieutenant to his side beat him to it.

"Where's Captain Spitfire?" Asked the bright-eyed, jubilant Soarin' as he began trotting up to the mixed group. Unexpectedly, it was Fleetfoot who answered his question.

"You left too thoon to hear thith, but she didn't want to go back to the hothpital, tho she went along with Thelethtia for debrief--" She was cut off mid-sentence when Rapidfire suddenly cut in from behind.

"--And then back to the academy to do the paperwork on the... scuffle that took place here yesterday." If that was not enough to demonstrate to Garrosh what considerable disarray the group was suffering, what happened next struck the nail on the head.

"Aw man, That's where she went? I knew Spit's head was feelin' bad, but I didn't know it was feeling that bad..." Soarin' randomly prattled on, causing more than a few sniggers and eye-rolls to ensue throughout the mixed group, and causing a face-hoof by Fleetfoot of epic proportions.

"You were there when she told uth where she wath going, you dumby!" She snapped back at him, quickly recovering from her own gesture, earning an insulted "Hey!" from her target. No matter how much Garrosh prepared himself, he just couldn't muster up enough mental fortitude to go up against that lisp of her's successfully. His apparently vast sanity draining more quickly than anyone would have liked, Hellscream put an end to whatever ludicrous potential arguments that might have otherwise been spawned.

"Enough of this!" He barked, demanding the attention of all, even a few now-frantic passers by who had then left the sanctity of their homes. "Miscreant, why are you here wasting my time?!" Bellowing his first question towards Nightshade, he then asked his next in a more sinister, suspicious manner. "And what has become of that white stallion of yours?"

"First off, it's Nightshade; even a foal could have figured it out by now, not that I would expect that much from you." Hellscream merely rolled his eyes at her colorful rebuttal. "Second off, the only thing you need to know about Stratus is that he's off duty right now. Third off, speaking of ponies who are off duty," She suddenly pointed a hoof to the Shadowbolt beside Garrosh. "Starry! You're relieved for now; we're rotating." Starry Skies simply nodded silently as she moved to join in with the rest of the group.

"Wait, she's off already? Who's gonna watch him?" The goblin-like voice of Charger sounded as he raised a hoof at the orc.

"You are..." She answered casually.

"Whaaat?" Charger whined, fully disdaining where he knew she was going.

"You heard me." She responded, now issuing her next statement to the whole group as Charger trudged wearily over to The Warchief's side, clearly not looking forward to today. "This is gonna become a regular thing for the time being; every twenty-four hours, we're gonna rotate for debriefing and r&r. We don't want one guy getting stuck with this lug for too long." Just as she was finishing, a stressed-looking mare came out of nowhere and made her way to the scene. She appeared to be sporting some sort of white uniform, prominently bearing the humans' healing mark upon the uniform's hat. She also had a rather peculiar style to her powder-pink mane, something closely resembling a done-up hair bun, though by the state of it, she'd had quite the taxing morning. Panting profusely and galloping with all her might, she skidded to a halt relatively near the darker portion of the mixed flight teams.

"P--Pardon me, but is there-- is there anypony here by the name of... Nightshade?" She croaked out feebly between pants. The Shadowbolts, for the most part, only seemed to shuffle about uneasily for a moment, that was, until their leader finally spoke up.

"Who wants to know?" Nightshade asked cautiously, to which the frantic medical mare brightened only a little.

"I have urgent news, news that your friend said you'd want to hear as soon as possible." She explained, finally managing to catch some of her breath. Nightshade didn't skip a beat; in but a split second she silently excused herself from the group to briskly approach the mare, bringing her ear in close to her to hear the news, and after just a short bout of indiscernible whispers from the nurse, Nightshade's expression changed just barely for the more surprised.

"What? What is it, Night?" Asked a concerned Charger.

"Starry, form up; we're headed to Ponyville General. Charger, you stay; you're on escort detail." Nightshade's need to voice that again was more founded than she would have liked, for as soon as she said that, she could have sworn she heard him mutter "shoot" before ceasing a barely begun stride. Content that that was well taken care of, she then turned to Hellscream. "If you aren't back in Ponyville's immediate vicinity in twenty-four hours for rotation, we've got clearance to engage you on site, so don't make us come looking for you." Garrosh almost thought of saying something sarcastically witty along the lines of "ancestors protect me..." before something annoying dawned on him. "Yeah, I know about your little trip to Canterlot; just be back here by nightfall." She said irritably before turning to trot past her rivals and taking flight. "Move out!" And with that, both she and starry Skies sped off in the direction of the hospital.

"Pfft, wath that thuppothed to make her thound cool? It jutht made her thound like a moron." Fleetfoot jeered as she watched the scene.

"Lieutenant, I'm still on standby for escort detail." Suddenly blurted Wave Chill, the comment sounding as though it were something between him reminding her and him readily defending his current task.

"Nah, I hate to admit it, but she's got a point. Whoever wantth to watch him overnight, go take a nap. I'll take over for you, Wave; thith trip to Canterlot thoundth a little thketchy." She finished, casting a side-long, distrustful look at the orc who merely shrugged impatiently at her. Wave Chill, who knew that he did not equal her in rank, stood there conflicted for a few seconds before giving her a very stiff salute, moving to join his two other comrades and allowing Fleetfoot to take up his previous position. Despite his impatience, Garrosh waited for them to decide all this, thanking the ancestors that they didn't argue about this and waste more of his time like they did all other times.

"Are you certain you... wouldn't want us going with you, Fleet?" Rapidfire spoke for the first time since landing, and already he was letting his preferences reveal themselves.

"Hey now, that would be breaking the deal we made with the Shadowbolts; they're supposed to be the shady ones, remember?" Soarin' spoke an intelligent sentence for the first time since landing, and already he was virtuously defending the Wonderbolts' core values. Fleetfoot took a bit of time to consider both courses of action. She herself had to admit; it was very tempting to take Rapid up on his suggestion, for not only would it be exercising the visual strength of the Wonderbolts for all to see (not to mention in Canterlot,) but it would also make her a bit safer knowing that they outnumbered both the big brown brute and the womanizing stallion from an "enemy camp." In the end, however, the more moral of the two choices one out by a strand of thread. They were supposed to be better team after all, and given the burning rivalry between Spitfire and Nightshade, it just wouldn't be right to blotch her record for her.

"Thoarin'th right, Rapid; it'th a no-brainer. If Thpitfire were here, she'd of thaid the thame thing." Soarin' looked somewhat flattered at her honest words, whereas Rapid looked completely shot down. "Hehe... Bethides, we all know that you athked that jutht tho you could weathel outta thtaying in Ponyville." She added in, to which Rapidfire gave an indignant "Hmph!"

"Are you finished yet?!" Garrosh abruptly butted in, making everyone in the group flinch.

"Yeah, yeah, hold your hortheth!" Fleet barked angrily up at him. Garrosh had just about had enough of this; daylight was burning, and these ridiculous circus clowns were holding him up. He'd then made up his mind that he wasn't going to sit there much longer, even if he had a brand-new phrase to think about that didn't make any sense coming from an equine.

"Anyway, relaxth, Rapid, you'll get your chanthe yet. I'm thending you guyth back to the academy to catch a break, go through debrief, and to check on Thpitfire. After that, meet up back here at eighteen-hundred hourth for rotation." All the Wonderbolts nodded affirmatively and took to the air bound for the academy save for one.

"Oh! I call dibs on the night watch! Can I stay here and take a nap?" Soarin' asked her with a very odd, spontaneous enthusiasm.

"Uh... okay?" Fleetfoot stuttered, unable to guess what had the stallion so excited to stay.

"Thanks, Fleet! You're the best!" The blithe stallion yelled as he sped off for the town's local inn, leaving Fleetfoot shouting after him, "Don't forget the rendezvous point!"

"At last!" Garrosh suddenly rejoiced. "Now that you creatures are finally through with your endless blatherings, we are leaving for the mountain city!" The orc decreed insistently before pointing at Charger. "You, lead me to this settlement's tram." He ordered, but for the second time, he was met only with confused silence. With his guard being officially switched for the day, Garrosh would've thought there would have at least been some differentials as far as intelligence went, but as Charger finally spoke up, he realized that these two were both proving to be just as stupid and useless as the last pair.

"Uh... What da buck's a tram?" The dimwitted city-stallion asked him. Garrosh reached up to tend his horrific headache, wondering how in this insane world they both could not know what a tram was. Nearing the end of his tether, he called it something else.

"I grow weary of this! The train to the mountain, you fool! Lead me there!" He growled to the Pegasus as he once again pointed yonder. Charger, now name-called, was not budging an inch or saying a word; he was now just standing his ground, teeth clenched in a scowl as if readying for a stand-off. It was fairly easy to guess that this particularly defiant stallion, having been hardened in both body and heart by street life, did not handle being bossed around well. Garrosh, now at the end of his tether as he dropped the bag from his shoulder, was kindly about to grant his obvious death wish when a small body and a lisped voiced dropped between them to intervene.

"Alright, alright! We get it, Okay?! According to thith map, the train thtation's just patht 'Breethy's General Goods Store' and 'Golden Oaks Library! We'll take you there quietly if you don't throw anymore tantrumth, okay?!" She spouted out as fast as she could as she held up a map in her hooves, panting heavily for a bit after she finished. Garrosh, only partially satisfied with the results of his threats, allowed himself only a small smirk as as he stood back up to full height, righting himself as he slung his bag over his shoulder again.

"... Good, now, lead me to this train station before we must butt heads once more." He addressed her with the tone of a classic bully. Fleetfoot's saucer-like eyes grew slightly wider, the moment of dread noticeable even through the flight goggles she'd just donned as she recalled the pain dealt to her from the first incident.

"Fine..." Was all she muttered in compliance as she began to lead him to his desired destination.

"Speak for yourself, ya little chicken!" Charger shot at his partner, feeling considerably betrayed. "I ain't h--" No sooner had he decided to keep ranting did Fleetfoot forcefully shove a hoof into his mouth.

"Shut up!" She whispered harshly to the shocked stallion as she pulled her hoof out of his mouth, taking a moment to distastefully wipe the glob of saliva she'd gotten on her hoof on his jumpsuit. "The thooner we lead thith big baby where he wants, the thooner we can get him back here, and the thooner I can get away from both of you!" She continued hissing at him, who was now making immature mock-talking gestures at her. "I am not about to go up againtht that thing with just you ath backup." She mumbled as a final, even though the orc could clearly hear her every word.

"Excellent, just keep proving useful and you shan't part with your skull." The orc said, trying not to cackle at how much of a conformative coward the mare was being right now. "Perhaps having these two stooges around will not be a total loss." The amused orc thought to himself. The odd company of the two ponies and Equuis' newest species then began their walk down the three streets to go until they reached the train station.

Garrosh, for his part, was quite surprised to see that the town's natives were not skittering away at the sound of his tremoring footsteps or recoiling in fear as he and his escorts passed them by through the streets, even though they were still keeping a firm distance from him. Despite their healthy distance from the Warchief, the natives' actions took a turn for the more dumbfounding when some of them even started positively acknowledging his presence, that acknowledgement being, by his count, five ponies who actually bore the courage to wave their forehooves at him in a friendly greeting. So unexpected was this to the orc, that he could do little more at the moment than keep staring in their direction, giving a small, awkwardly aloof nod, doing his best to return their greeting. "For being so pathetically sheltered from any real change, these creatures seem to adapt quickly; this may be useful." He mused placidly as the trek carried onward. The orc also saw that a couple of the five ponies who had greeted him had seen him before, such as the ones called "Carrot Top" and "Roseluck." He was not certain if he'd already gained the supposed "friendship" they all held so dear by simply talking to them, or if they had just been raised and taught to display this queerly bizarre behavior to anyone who didn't immediately want to harm them. Before he could reach any satisfying conclusion, Hellscream decided to drop his mind's subject before risking yet another mental breakdown. He dreadfully surmised that this was just one more in a thousand other aspects of this wretched world that would threaten to do the same for as long as The Greatmother kept him here.

"You know..." Fleetfoot started all of the sudden. "You do realithe that going to a city on the thide of a mountain crawling with Thelethtia'th royal guardth ith not the brightetht idea, right? I mean, I know that you can throw your weight around and all, but that jutht theems like a bit much, even for thome one with your fat head." Despite her meager little jab, she actually made a fair point, but Garrosh was not turning back now, not when he was so close to getting rid of the horrid overalls he'd constructed out of desperation, not when he was so close to avenging his Tusks of Mannaroth, not when he was so close to finally donning some decent armor.

"Even should they defy the direct orders given by their princess, if they are trained in the same manner as your teams, then it should be prove simple to cut through them." The orc retorted callously. Surprisingly, Fleetfoot said not another word, and given the relationship between the two of them, Garrosh knew that she'd deliberately cut herself off to avoid going too far and provoking violence from the orc that she knew she could not control. Charger on the other hand, lacked any trace of this self preservation, and just couldn't bring himself to keep his ever-widening mouth shut.

"Oh yeah?" He spat what Hellscream indelibly knew as a very unintelligent, very unrhetorical question. Intentionally leaving the ridiculous caricature of a stallion hanging awkwardly, Garrosh let him stumble through the moment of silence he gave him before allowing him to start what was to be yet another brash rant. "Just try to take us down again; I dare ya. You know darn good n' well dat you just got lucky last time." The rebellious Pegasus finally challenged.

"Once again showing foolishness masked as courage I see." Garrosh jeered, giving a bit of a chuckle to himself. "You are confident in your teammates' combined strength, Charger, but you have forgotten a very important factor." He admonished as he then made direct eye-contact with the Pegasus, glowering down upon him with dagger-sharp eyes. "They are not here." The theatrical beast allowed himself a menacing smirk. "The 'battle' would consist only of you and myself. Do you think you, in your vast prowess, could bring me down alone, rodent?" Looking back through his memories of the standoff he'd had with the two flight teams, he was quite pleased with how his brief one-on-one interlude with Charger had unfolded; braining the brainless Pegasus with that odd white box was fairly enjoyable to do the first time, and he was looking forward to finding out what other way he could enjoy pulverizing him if he were to make good on any of his hollow threats.

"Hmph! Maybe if ya fought fair! Maybe if ya didn't use every dirty trick in da book, including literally the kitchen sink!" Charger defended, his former thunder considerably stolen. "Besides, I ain't alone; I got ole' Fleety here ta back me up." The desperate-sounding statement earned a rather merciful eye-roll from the brute, and a look of both pure shock and lividity from the aforementioned mare. "Ain't dat right, sweetheart?" Charger added casually as he threw an overly-friendly fetlock around the small mare's shoulders. He didn't look over at Fleetfoot as he asked his stupid question, for if he did, he would have seen that she looked like she was about to butcher him. The orc was now pretty certain Charger had some kind of death wish, for Fleetfoot could not possibly have made the fact that she was only afraid of Garrosh any clearer than just recently. Nonetheless, this dense stallion saw none of it. Before any of the three of them could blink once more, Fleetfoot used her lithe, petite body to quickly shrug the offending fetlock from her back as she just as quickly smacked Charger across the face so hard that his flight goggles came clean off.

"Toucth me again, and I may jutht look the other way while Warchief eath you!" She hissed to him viciously, lacking all basic empathy. Charger however, barely even heard her, as he was too preoccupied clasping his hoof over his scrunched snout, mourning over it as he quickly reached his other blind hoof to retrieve the goggles. As the manhandled Shadowbolt was bringing his goggles back up to his face as Fleetfoot hissed her strangely creative threat, Garrosh saw that he was keeping his eyes clenched tightly shut, never even cracking them open once as he stretched the goggles around his head to don them again. It was the first time the orc had seen him make any gesture of this sort, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was something special or amiss with those eyes. For that fleeting moment of contemplation, a variety of questions tugged at Garrosh's mind. Had he lost one of them in battle and just didn't want anyone else to know? Was he conscious of them for some unexplainable reason? Did he just simply not like their color? He positively knew not, but for all he knew, regarding these creatures' laughable quirks and idiosyncrasies, especially of this particularly vain stallion, he didn't dare remove any potential reason from the equation.

"Okay! okay! Sheesh, filly!" Charger cried as he shook his head after snapping his eye wear back on, checking his muzzle for blood.

"As odd as it may seem, Fleetfoot, I do not relish the taste of horse meat." Garrosh remarked, alluding to what she'd earlier said. He saw her visibly cringe and gag at his insensitive jest, but Charger was completely oblivious, no doubt due to the fact that he was all too busy mulling over his nearly-broken snout.

"Wait, hold up a sec; who said anything about eating ponies?" He asked dumbly, only making Fleetfoot scoff, rolling her eyes at his stupidity.

"Fleetfoot has given me permission to ingest you." Garrosh stated plainly. The response was instant; Charger slowly looked over at Fleetfoot with a look mixed with confusion, disgust, and substantial worry all clearly visible even through his obstructive, angular eye wear.

"Come on, Fleet, ya can't honestly tell me dat ya don't like gettin' touched that much." He said, then sporting a manure-eating grin as his eyebrows subtly moved up and down. If this gesture was somehow supposed to gain any semblance of favor from the Wonderbolt, he still had a lot to learn about the female of the species. Thankfully though for his sake, Fleetfoot only silently shook her head rather than hit him again.

"Worry not, rodent; in order to eat you I would first have to reduce you to char to remove all disease from your hide." Garrosh almost guffawed at hearing his own words.

"Oooh! Buurn!" Fleetfoot abraded meanly as Charger was taken aback by such a ruthless shot at his image.

"Hey! Buck you, alright? I take a bath more often than that!" He yelled, clearly feeling offended and outnumbered by the both of them, only causing Garrosh smirked at the outburst. "Oh, and judging by da way you reek, I don't even think you know what a bath is." He shot back at the orc. Fleetfoot started a boisterous laugh, but that was were it ended as she quite forcefully bit her tongue as she looked up warily at The Warchief. Surprisingly enough, Hellscream didn't grow all that angry, merely giving a dismissive sneer.

"Hmm, is it any fault of mine that that crazed, insubordinate vermin of yours decided to singe my skin until it was blackened and seared?" The Warchief wisely asked, much to the silence that followed shortly. "Hmph! It matters little; it received what it deserved, and you shall just have to bare the stench if you wish to follow orders where your comrade could not." His words were fierce, cutting through any who held the hospitalized mare dear. As expected, Fleetfoot willingly and readily disconnected herself from the banter entirely, but uncharacteristically, Charger did not utter a single word through his now-clenched teeth. If the orc didn't know any better, he'd think that this peon of an equine had finally learned his place, but sadly for him, he did know better. Garrosh knew that Charger had merely switched tactics and was biding his time, lying in wait for an opportunity were his words could stab into the beast just as brutally. "Keep moving; I wish to reach the mountain city before nightfall." Garrosh grumbled, his annoyance with how long this had already taken suddenly becoming more evident. Luckily for him, it only took another few seconds to finally reach the final of this village's landmarks between him and his destination: Golden Oaks Library.

It was a tree house.

"...What?" Fleetfoot finally asked, wondering why the beast had stopped dead in his tracks. He answered not, for from the very moment he'd seen the sylvan abode standing forth straight and proud in the middle of the town's clearing, he'd only been able to think of one thing; said thing, enraged him. "...What, they don't have any tree houtheth back on... on--"

"Azeroth..." Garrosh cut her off in her guessable strugglings to remember the name of his second home planet. Also unquestionably, Fleetfoot had asked him that question because ever since he'd been standing there staring at the leafy landmark, he'd bore such a face of anger and disgust that it could easily invoke fear into the recipient. It was just a pity the fear factor was wasted on an inanimate object. "And yes, it does have these... tree homes." He growled the final term with such a tangibly choleric tone that it would be nigh impossible not to infer that these staple dwellings had belonged to one of his more preeminent enemies. Soon thereafter, Garrosh heard a bored and sullen sigh come from behind him.

"Lemme guess, some mook ya didn't like owned a tree house back where your from?" Charger asked, surely already knowing the answer. Hellscream was so deep within his morose memories that he scarcely even knew who asked the question, giving whomever it was nothing more than an affirmative grunt in response.

"Well, you don't have to worry about thith one; thith one'th home to Printheth Twilight Thparkle: Keeper of Ponyville Library." She announced the "good" news as if it was such, but to the orc, there were now multiple reasons to avoid this establishment. Garrosh knew all too well the unsettling, unwavering, knowledge-crazed look that was ever-present in the eyes of that bookish Alicorn when she looked upon him, and felt certain that if he wandered too close to that tree house, that he would risk bringing a pain upon himself the likes from which he could never hope to recover.

"Come, we are averting our course." He commanded as he veered left without hesitance, much to the escorts' confusion as he marched into a nearby alleyway.

"You mean patht... 'Quillth and Thofath?'" Fleetfoot asked, looking intently at the map in her hooves once again. Garrosh had to take his time answering this. Seeing as how the Wonderbolt's lisp had all but butchered that particular shop title, it took him a while to figure out that it was one the most stupid, ridiculous, and mindless names for anything he'd ever heard in his life, and that was without Fleetfoot's lisp.

"Yes" He said, casting his thoughts aside for the time being as he continued his softened stride through the alleyway.

"Wait, you really hate that tree house that much?!" Charger blurted, marveling at what he thought was Garrosh's immaturity.

"No!" Garrosh half-shouted before lowering his voice as much as he could (which was to say not very much.) "I am not subjecting myself to the mental torture that is that deranged mare or any of her fellow lunatics! Enough, follow or don't; I care not!" He hissed, now irritated beyond belief, not only at what he was having to stoop to accomplish, but the fact that he was having to explain it all to this imbecilic stallion. Breaking from the covering dark of the alley, he finally caught sight of what he'd longed to see: The train station platform. "At last! We are here." Garrosh gave a small rejoice, disbelieving how unbearably tedious even the first step of his objective had made itself out to be.

It was small, very small.

"What manner of tram station is this?" Garrosh asked himself, feeling more and more underwhelmed the further he observed it, for looking over it, he quickly found that there nothing else to see. The only difference between the station and the regular tracks he saw spiraling up to the mountain city in the distance was an old plank-wood platform, the two wooden ramps leading up to it, and the purple shack built onto the back of it with a hay-thatched roof, presumably for ticket purchase. Slowing to a stop right before exiting the alley entirely, it then occurred to The Warchief that he'd never boarded a tram of any kind in his life. Throughout his days, he had always been more used to things like travelling on-foot around Orgrimmar and perhaps the occasional portal jump to another of the Horde faction's capitols. Anything beyond that, and he only knew of martial transports to far-away battlefields that warranted his presence and attention such as armored caravans or the Horde's hulking, airborne flagships. In light of all this, he knew he'd never paid for any form of transport in his life, but just as all determined beings think as they stare down a new and terribly daunting task laid out before them, Garrosh's mind read only one question: How hard could it be?

Without much further thought than this, Hellscream covered the fairly short distance between the station and anything else, indifferently strolled around the booth to the other side, and bent down to get a better look at the front. Just as he had figured, this booth was meant precisely for ticket purchase, as there were counter-topped openings all along its front. Not as he had figured, he saw no one behind the counter ready to transact. Looking along the counter top, he saw nothing but some type of speaker device, a couple of askew newspapers at the shaded far end of the counter, and what appeared to be a waiting bell not unlike that in Orgrimmar's treasury. Again, without much further thought on the matter, he outstretched an index finger and rang the bell with his bulky fingertip, the tinny sound still echoing in his ears as he peered through to the back of the booth to see if anyone was coming forward to respond.

"Uh, Warchief....?" Came Fleetfoot's voice from behind him; the two escorts had made their landing next to him seconds before he'd rang the bell.

"Be gone, fools; I do not need your aid in this." He caviled to them, waving a dismissive hand behind him without so much as looking back at them.

"But--"

"Come on, Fleety; let's just do as he says." Charger said in a semi-hushed tone, sporting a cheesy, knowing smirk. "Let's just go stand watch; he'll figure it out." He suggested as he turned around, heading for the edge of the platform.

Garrosh then rang the bell for a second, more harsh time, nearly breaking tiny thing, growing impatient with whomever it was who was supposed to be professionally manning the ticket booth. He'd only started waiting a second when he heard a soft snort noise near him, accompanied thereafter by what no one could mistake for anything other than snoring. Eyes darting to and fro, it didn't take long for him to see that one of the askew newspapers' corners was blowing about, despite the fact that it was a windless mid morning. Garrosh instantly knew what to make of this. After clearing his throat purposely loudly, Garrosh saw the few newspaper jolt upward in an alarmed motion, the one under them making several short, incoherent mumblings before coming to their senses.

"Oh! I'm begging your pardon, sir; I must have been more tired than usual what with all the commotion happening around town lately." The voice of a gentle stallion spoke quickly and apologetically as he grabbed the newspapers off of him and started folding them neatly in a pile without even looking up at who it was. The wingless and hornless stallion had a coat of light, almost coffee-brown while his mane of a darker hue of the same color was styled quite meticulously in a strange, swept pompadour. Garrosh also noted that this was the first civilian town's dweller wearing any clothing he'd thus far seen, namely a merchant's vest of deep blue bearing a name tag reading "Davenport," there under lying a crisp, white dress shirt pulled neatly apart at the collar. The final thing Hellscream noted were the frantic, embarrassed eyes of lime-green darting about the counter as he finished shuffling the newspapers into order.

"Anyhow, what can I do for y--" The stallion started as he looked up from his tidying to properly interact with his patron, finding not a fellow pony's face, but the massive lower torso of a monstrous form look down at him. Trailing his horrified eyes slowly upward, he came in contact with the very colossal being he'd only just heard about in the newspapers he'd just straightened. As Davenport's eyes widened in terror, his irises and pupils shrinking down to the size of pinpricks, Garrosh's expression just as quickly grew intolerantly deadpan, for even though this here was a stallion of this absurd race, the weary orc knew what was ultimately to befall his ears. When Garrosh had reached the pinnacle of his power in his days as Warchief, he had thought the terrified whispers of his intimidating name as he passed through the streets of Orgrimmar were a trifle satisfying, but to say that he was now growing very tired of this self same reaction was once again an understatement punishable by death.

"So help me, if you should scream like a female, I shall squash you right here." He uttered in a tone equal to his expression, causing the stallion to very quickly silence the intake of breath he was drawing. "Now, to spare myself of your pathetic stammerings, I shall make things very clear to you. Yes, I am this 'monster' you have heard so much about. Yes, I am free to wander this accursed place as I damned well please, and finally, yes, I am here at your station seeking the means to leave this place, for I wish not to waste any more time here." Garrosh then started leaning in closer to the poor, frazzled stallion, eyes slowly narrowing. "Now it is you who will answer a question of mine: How much is three tickets for the next tram to the mountain city... of Canterlot?" The Warchief was now hissing his words in a harsh and sinister whisper. It might have occurred in the back of his mind somewhere along the line that he was taking advantage of how these creatures viewed him. It was a cruelty in and of itself, but he was weary of it, weary of it all, weary of jumping through hoops and going out of his way to appear less frightening to them.

The unfortunate recipient of this burst of cruel behavior by then looked so afraid he almost seemed broken, eyes still amassed staring into the horrid, yellow abyss that were Hellscream's own, his jaw trembling severely as he kept trying unsuccessfully to respond.

"Well?!" Garrosh growled impatiently, causing him to flinch as he let out a feeble whimper.

Having been freed from his fear-induced stupor, The stallion broke eye-contact with the beast to cast a rushed glance in the direction of the map on the side wall of the ticket booth, shortly thereafter scrambling frantically under the counter to procure the three tickets.

"T-t-t..." He stuttered as he quickly slapped the tickets onto the counter top, then realizing in full that stuttering and stammering was the exact thing the monstrosity had explicitly stated he did not want to hear. Composing himself to the best of his ability as he wiped the beading sweat from his brow, he took in a deep, calming breath before responding as he would to an average, everyday patron.

"That will be thirty bits, sir." Casting "Davenport" a look as if to say "finally," he then shrugged off the sling of his bag with an impatient sigh, the bag making a small, jingling crashing sound before he started searching through it. The orc was dismayed to find that he had next to no food left, but he did still have two full water sacks at his disposal. What truly eased his mind about the potentially dangerous lack of food was the abundant presence of hundreds of shiny, gold bits liberally accented with scattered precious stones; even that gold bar he'd found per chance was still there. Not only would this undoubtedly serve as enough to purchase both the tram ticket and anything else he would be buying in Canterlot, but it would also surely sustain him financially throughout the duration of his stay in this world. That is, of course, if it was at all reasonable.

"It is good that none of those infernal rats tried to steal anything from me." Garrosh thought as he snatched out roughly thirty bits. He plopped the gold coins down onto the counter quite unceremoniously before outstretching a massive hand for his tickets. As quick as a flash did Davenport attempt to place the tickets in orc's hand, only to place two and have the final one start floating away in a single, ill-timed breeze. Garrosh was quicker than Davenport in using his other hand to snatch the ticket before it had even moved a few inches in the air. As he looked down at the three tickets now in his hands, the orc heard the stallion let out a sigh, causing the orc to roll his eyes at the pathetic fool. The tickets themselves bore a few scribbles of calligraphic writing on them. They meant little to nothing to the orc; the time imprinted on them, however, did mean something.

"The tram, is this time its arrival or departure?" He asked the stallion, brandishing the three tickets closely.

"Oh! Departure time, sir, it should be here any minute now." He answered whilst sweeping the coins into a large cashier's box already partially endowed with a few bits here and there; it would seem that he was at least starting to get used to the sight of the beast before him.

"Is that all?" Garrosh suddenly and impatiently asked.

"W-What? ...I don't understand what you mean, sir." He said, trying to maintain eye-contact with the orc as he closed the cash register. Garrosh gave an exasperated grunt of a sigh, sounding as if he were about to come unglued before attempting to make himself more clear.

"Is this all that I need do? Must we speak further?" He iterated, sounding more frustrated by the minute as his voice continued to raise. It was a very good thing that there was not a soul to be had at the station when they'd arrived, for if the poor, pitiful stallion was shaking any more profusely by this point, it was certain that all in the near vicinity would hear his knees knocking together.

"N-N-No, that's all; that's all. Have a n-nice trip, sir." He said with a very forced smile. The orc's reply to his farewell sent a chill running down the pony's spine.

"We shall see."

After seething his bitter say, he stood to full height, once again slinging his bag over his shoulder, and turned to walk to the side off the platform. His sinister exit was doomed to fail however, for right as he had turned to step off the platform, his face smacked right into something hard and metallic. Stunned, he drew back with one foot to inspect what he'd just walked straight into.

It was the station's railway sign hanging just off the building's awning, still swaying back and forth mockingly from how hard he'd just struck it with his face. Growing ever more enraged at an alarming rate, the orc savagely ripped the blasted thing loose of its hinges, and gave a fuming roar as he pulled it behind him in an arc and flung it forward as far as he possibly could across the tracks and into the grassy fields beyond. Huffing a few times, somewhat dissatisfied at the fact that he couldn't bring the blasted thing to a more gruesome end, he finally heard it land with a thud and a hollow metal ping, the few birds resting in the fields quickly scattering away. At last calming himself relatively, he almost lost it all over again when he heard Charger's sniggering from the edge of the platform. The orc cast a quick look back at the booth where "Davenport" had been, only to find the top of his trembling mane as the frazzled equine was hidden mostly behind the false security of his counter, bidding him to scoff as he continued his short trek from the platform. Once there, he simply stood there, his hands joined at his lower back, waiting stoically for whatever kind of confounded contraption these equines had deemed fit for rails. As he waited, he could just overhear the sound of demeaning whispering coming from the two so-called escorts who sat at the platform's edge, more specifically the masculine of the two. Garrosh was just considering walking over and smashing the delinquent when he heard it.

Yes, he heard it. It was a very familiar sound, one of the first positively familiar sounds he'd heard in this place in relation to Azeroth. Looking down the rails to the south, he could just make out a vague silhouette chugging along them under the shade of the forest in the distance.

"Finally, some progress..." Hellscream breathed quietly as the silhouette inched ever closer, moving past the cover of the tree line. Finally he felt like he was getting somewhere.

That feeling would prove extremely short-lived however, for as soon as the silhouette had left the cover of the trees and was then running through open field towards the station in Day's shining light, he realized just how short-lived that feeling was to be.

As the hideous thing approached, Garrosh saw that it wasn't hideous; it was downright horrid-looking! The train locomotive's boiler and cabin was bathed in an insanely bright and blinding magenta, whereas the embroidery upon its cowcatcher and the frames of the cabin's windows shaped as hearts. Hearts! Hearts of all things! This fact alone would have been enough for the weary orc, yet his masochistic eyes trailed ever onward. The car being pulled directly behind it was the second thing the orc had seen here to look like a Hallow's End treat. More accurately, the whole car looked like a frosted rendition of one of those muffins Ditsy had shared with him. To continue this industrial travesty, the nightmarish front of the train was only worsened by the four cars that followed. For starters, all four passenger cars had walls painted a cinnamon-brown and looked almost granular in consistency. To literally top it all off, these cars were arranged in a pattern so that for every roof of canary yellow, there was a roof of cyan blue. It was ludicrous! The architect of this abomination must have been some sort of sadist, for It appeared as though the theme of the whole damned thing was that of a gingerbread house. The final car was no better than the rest of the train, having been slathered with the same disgusting shade of magenta as the front, only to be inflamed by a butter-yellow rooftop. It looked as if these creatures had tried to find the most incompatible colors in the spectrum to attempt to marry together. Though he would be extremely hard pressed to even think about boarding such a thing, even all this was mere child's talk compared to what had really destroyed Hellscream's sense of progress.

"What... Is this?!" He snarled as it pulled into the station with a large hiss of white steam.

"Oh, for...!" Fleetfoot blurted out as she face-hoofed. "What now? There'th thomething you don't like about the train now?"

"Something? Is there a thing that is acceptable about this?!" He growled at her, assuming she knew all that he meant.

"So what?! It's ugly; just suck it up and get on!" Charger Shouted from behind her.

"Silence, cur! That does not even begin to explain my problem with it! This damned thing is too small!" He roared furiously, his body tensed as if ready to do battle. Fleetfoot had grabbed Charger by the front of his jumpsuit and was about to pummel him for his all-too-dangerous remark when those words met her ears.

"....Ooohh!" Her eyes clenched shut as the gravity of that statement hit her. She just settled for pushing Charger off the side of the platform before responding. "Well... What now?" A guttural rumbling was all that was heard from Hellscream's hunched form, and it gradually grew louder and louder. Both the pegasi knew it was a growl; all Charger did was stare at him from his laying position off to the side of the platform, whereas Fleetfoot noticeably backed away, her eyes once again widening. She knew what was coming. He'd reached his limit, and there was nothing they could do but watch it happen. As for Garrosh, they were absolutely right about him. He was at his limit, and just had to destroy something. The unstoppable rage that came so naturally to him and his race had finally reared its head for the first time since the battle in the town square, and Garrosh was actually surprised it had not come sooner. He simply had to smash something, to kill something, to get it out of his system, and he didn't care what or who got in his way. His growl evolving quickly to a deafening roar, the two escorts barely had enough time to get off the edge of the platform before he whirled around and brought his fist down on it, splintering it to pieces. He felt wasn't quite enough, and he was just about to bring another fist down near the same area when a semi-hesitant voice from the ticket booth halted him a moment.

"W-Wait!" Garrosh decided grudgingly to slow his second strike down enough as to where it didn't destroy half the platform; he was actually quite disappointed that his first didn't land on Charger, but he knew that that probably would not be the only chance he'd ever receive. Tearing himself out of his all-consuming rage, his head eventually craned to where the voice had come from. "I-I overheard your predicament, sir. There's no need to worry, sir." Davenport gave a quick, nervous, yet relieved chuckle as he wiped his brow again with a handkerchief from his vest pocket. "I'll send a dispatch down to Dodge Junction to fetch a gondola immediately." Hellscream said nothing, for he nearly heard nothing. He was too busy trying get a hold of himself.

"Greatmother.... I am not strong enough; I will kill them soon. If you have any conviction in your choice to keep me here, then please... Aid me." These were the words from his mouth spoken aloud in murmurs as his anger began to slowly fade. The escorts said nothing, but they heard everything. As far as Charger was concerned, it only looked to him like an indirect threat. To Fleetfoot however, it looked like a great and terrible beast capable of great and terrible feats admitting on high that even his strength had its limits and pleading, begging for help from his Goddess as she would unto Celestia, and to speak the plain truth, it took her breath away. It was then that Garrosh slowly turned and started trudging away from the train station towards the general direction of Canterlot Mountain.

"...H-Hey, where are you going?" Fleetfoot asked, flapping her wings to hover after him.

"I am leaving for the city!" He snapped back at her most bitterly, causing her to hesitate only slightly.

"On hoof? ...Erm foot?" She asked almost in disbelief, scarcely noticing her need for that little correction. Garrosh didn't answer; he chose instead to keep marching onward to what would soon be a very steep hill.

"Ya won't make it back in time." Came Chargers accented voice from behind both of them as he kicked back, lounging exactly where he was before Fleetfoot shoved him off. What he said was true, for it would take all day and possibly all night to reach Canterlot on foot from ground level. It was something Fleetfoot hated to admit, but she would be siding with him on this one.

"He'th right, you know. Even if you turned around ath thoon ath you got there, you'd never make it before nightfall." Agreeing with that epitomized stupidity left a bad taste in her mouth, but it had to be done; she had to follow her orders to her best.

"I care little! Try and stop me if you dare; you shall fail." He announced as he kept going.

"...And how's about dat little filly ya gotta get back to today?" Charger asked casually. Garrosh stopped dead in his tracks, frozen by what had just been uttered. "You jus' gonna break her little heart again, huh?" Garrosh hadn't wished he had laser vision so ardently before in his life, for when he turned to glare swords at the peacock of a Pegasus, he wanted him so desperately to burst into flames and reduce to ash.

"What did you say?" He asked simply with a dangerous tone; surprisingly enough, it was lost not just on Charger, nor the Wonderbolt mare next to him.

"Me an' the other Shadows figured it out last night...." Garrosh said nothing, but whether that silence was due to anger or confusion was left unclear. "...Oh what? Ya 'tought Nightshade's little summary at da picnic or whateva, you carrying a foal on ya shoulders, you runnin' outta da tent yelling 'I'm late! I'm late!,' and then you suddenly turning up near dat same foal's house all weren't big enough clues?" He finished with cocky arched eyebrow. Garrosh hated his guts with a passion, but even he had to admit that he didn't expect him to do that much thinking over the course of several months, let alone in one short night. "So I'll ask again, you still gonna break her heart?"

"You truly know no fear in the face of certain death, do you?" Garrosh finally spoke, and his question sound strangely genuine.

"Nah..." The Bolt replied simply.

"Once again you impress me, foolish Charger. I will hear you.... this time." He said, sporting the smallest grin as he began walking back to the station.

"Warchief, pleathe be a pal and don't feed hith fat ego..." Fleetfoot interjected as she fluttered down to land at the platform's edge again.

"Oh, calm your teats, Fleety; I know ya like a confident stud." Charger retorted with chuckle as he leaned back, tucking his forelegs behind his head and crossing his back legs.

"Why you...!" She was just about to dart into him when Garrosh nonchalantly snagged her by her wings, plopping her back down where she previously sat. "Ow..."

"If anyone is going to kill him, it is I." He added as he sat her back down.

"Ugh, then pleathe do it thoon, for Thelethtia's thake..." She muttered, though Charger could clearly hear her. After a good minute of staring idly down at the floor boards of the platform, fiddling with her hooves, Fleetfoot suddenly looked up at the still-standing orc; it was plain to see that something was on her mind. "Hey, Warchief?"

"....What?" He answered gruffly, causing her to shrink back only slightly, but not deterring her.

"That... 'Greatmother' you mentioned, you talked about her at the thummit latht night; What'th she like?" She asked that question with a surprising deal of earnestness. It was something even the emotionally dense orc could easily pick up. After a fair amount of silent thought, he found that there could be no harm in giving her an earnest answer. Though, Garrosh found gathering the right words to describe The Greatmother to be a nearly impossible task.

"The Greatmother.... was a title, a title given to an orc of my people." Garrosh spoke briskly, yes, but if you were looking for it, you could easily hear the anguish in his voice. The fact that it was difficult to even speak about The Greatmother was not at all lost on Fleetfoot, and though she felt disappointed by the lack of color to his answer, she merely responded with a knowing "...Oh."

Garrosh may not have enjoyed attempting to tell the sorrowful tale of The Greatmother, but he'd be damned if he let this curious mare end up thinking of her as anything less than an angel. After all, the very least he could do to honor her memory was to spread the joyous legends of her compassion with all those who would hear. Having decided to press on, Garrosh took in a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the train station platform next to the small Pegasus. "You remembered that I spoke of her briefly at the summit, so perhaps you can remember that I spoke of a great plague that had spread through village of our people?" Fleetfoot nodded grimmly for the orc to continue. "This great plague, the Red Pox, had ensnared many orcs, and those that were infected by it were either banished, or killed." Fleetfoot's eyes went wide at these heavy words, but the orc didn't stop the story there. "But, as the plague grew worse, one orc realized that those afflicted could be saved. Her name... was Gayah...."

"....Greatmother Gayah."

"Was?" Fleetfoot asked, dreading the inevitable answer. The orc could barely nod, let alone say "yes."

"So, wait a minute, your leader was... just a doctor?" Asked Charger suddenly from his reclined position. Fleetfoot merely "shushed" him, waving a hoof at him while still looking at Garrosh.

"Gayah was no expert in medicine, but that did not stop her in her zeal to offer comfort and hope to all those who suffered. She ordered the few healthy orcs who shared her compassion to build a home for the sick in the valley of Nagrand, and to there, the anguished would flock."

"So... She was just a regular orc doing all this?" Fleetfoot's question held much caution, so as not to offend. Garrosh gave a short chuckle, for he never thought anyone would ever think to call Gayah a "regular" orc. Still, he could forgive this alien creature for her ignorance.

"No, no she was not." His face once again grew solemn as the story carried on. "She was the chosen mate of a mighty chieftain, but she sacrificed everything to aid those tortured by the Red Pox." He paused only a moment to look down at the smallish mare. "Even her time of grieving for this mighty chieftain's death." His eyes then began to wonder as they had been before. "She came to Nagrand to lead and to care for the small settlement of those deemed unworthy to fight in the armies of The First Horde." Garrosh looked shamefully to the ground. "To this day, I find myself guilty, for I was one of those hopeless orcs that was sent to her, barely able to muster the strength to swing my axe."

Fleetfoot gave a quite gasp at the mere thought of the hulking, rippling beast standing next to her struggling to lift anything, let alone a simple axe. Even Charger turned his goggled eyes to the orc in a look of slight shock. "We called her the Greatmother not because she bore many children-in-blood, nor for any unearthly powers she may have held as a shaman, but because she had accepted each and every one of us with open arms, where those who had birthed us, had abandoned us to death."

"Wow, she makes Celestia look even worse than she already did." Charger piped in. As expected, his harsh political comment was not taken lightly or very well by the Wonderbolt in the company.

"Oh, thut up, you hollow-head!" She barked with disdain, glaring at the Shadowbolt. The two locked eyes, and then just started exchanging petty insults.

"Says da Sunbutt kisser!"

"Alley thcrounger!"

"Stuck-up prude!"

"Dirty pervert!"

"Enough!" Garrosh commanded, his booming voice nearly demanding the two Bolts to flinch or cover their ears. "You two are insufferable! My aching head cannot withstand your petty feuding!" The orc fumed to the two clashing ponies, throwing his hand about wildly. His words seemed to affect Fleetfoot to a degree, but Charger merely rolled his covered eyes, huffing as he crossed his fetlocks.

"Thorry about that, wath that the end of the thtory?" Garrosh knew that Fleetfoot's apology was just so that he would continue his tale, but he cared not so long as the two ceased their annoyingly loud and vulgar bickering.

"Yes.... for the most part." Garrosh looked off towards the forest with distant eyes as he spoke the story's final words. "The Greatmother died... one day after I left her care to join The New Horde." His eyes grew even colder under his furrowing brow. "Dead... not even a day after I forced myself to leave her side." His fists balled up in silent rage, rage aimed nowhere but towards himself. "... After I abandoned her." Hearing those words escape his own lips made him feel more helplessly enraged than any trouble of his reign in Orgrimmar ever did, and yet, if he didn't know any better, he'd thought that there was something he felt within his core telling him to be at peace, urging him to neither grieve nor seek vengeance, something comforting him. Again though, he did know better, for he knew that this "feeling" was the one who spoke with him not two days ago, the one of whom he just spoke in reverent telling, the one he knew was with him even at that very moment.

"....I'm thorry...."

Hellscream's eyes suddenly reopened, as he had not realized he'd closed them. When his vision returned to him, he saw the tall, grey rain clouds looming just over the forest on the horizon. He took in another deep breath of Equestria's air before realizing what Fleetfoot had said to him.

"...For what, Lieutenant?" He asked, to which she grimaced a bit as she purposelessly twiddled with the pair of purple shades she'd just taken out of her uniform.

"...for bringing it up." She replied sullenly.

"I do not find shame or guilt in an opportunity to speak highly of my Greatmother;" Fleetfoot could feel Garrosh's gaze now upon her as she continued fiddling with her shades. "nor should you for an opportunity to allow me to do so." She looked up at him with a semi-confused twist in her face. All the orc did was give her a small, cheeky smirk before once again assuming an stalwart standing position beside the station platform.

"Welp, she really does sound like a pretty good... person..." Charger's voice could be heard over by the train's second passenger car. He seemed to be looking through them at the time. "Seriously? There ain't nopony on this train? I 'tought this town was supposed to be some kinda tourist hot-spot." He said to no one in particular as he scratched his head with a hoof.

"It'th probably jutht a thlow day, you know; it did come all the way up from Trottingham." Fleetfoot mumbled with a shrug.

"Trotting--ham?" Garrosh thought. He was beginning to think that these creatures were deliberately trying to plaster stupid names on anything they were affiliated with.

"hmm..." Was all Charger answered with as he limbered himself up with long stretch. "Anyway, I'm gonna go grab some shade. Don'tcha worry about dat train mishap; I've seen 'em happen often enough back at Grand Central." He said, nestling himself up on the wooden bench under the ticket booth's awning with a sigh. "...Shouldn't take more than an hour or two."

"'Or two?!'" Garrosh repeated, quickly growing livid.

"Oh, come on, Warchief; it'th not that long a wait. We thould thtill arrive in Canterlot way before noon." Fleet reassured him. Slowly but surely Hellscream supposed it wasn't as long to wait as it could have been regarding the circumstances, especially if it was all to be this peaceful.

"FOUND HIM!"

Author's Note:

Six months... Six long, painful, grueling, months have passed since I and my editor/co-writer have released a chapter of this wonderful story.

It leaves a bad taste in my mouth to even type out that horrible number, and I can't express how happy I am to finally upload a new chapter, and begin writing again.

Now, my editor will continue with his plan of making his own story, but it will be made under my name. It will be a tad confusing to some, so I'll simply let him explain it when he is ready to do so.

Well, Garrosh and myself will see you all in the next installment of The Fate of The Warchief. Until then, goodbye my readers, and have a Blessed day.

Final Note: This chapter name is pending, so it may change soon, if I can think of a better name.

Comments

[Europa]

 "Hmph, pity they would not live to tell anyp...."

Not even Garrosh is immune to Adorable Horse Syndrome.

    

"To Canterlot?! Hey, hold up; I don't like where this is going."

Oh boy...

  "Why never, He's been a peach, haven't you, handsome?"

Oh Light...

 His apparently vast sanity

Ironic, considering his relation with an Old God...

The train to the mountain

There you go!

What, they don't have any tree houtheth back on... on--"

Well the Night Elves do...

that bookish Unicorn

Alicorn.

    "FOUND HIM!"

Oh dear...

[The Blessed One]

5797742 Your like a built-in secondary editor... and I thank you for it.

It took my editor and myself a while to figure where we wanted to go with this crossroads chapter of sorts. So, I hope you enjoyed the finished product, Europa.

[222leslie222]

(And how's about dat little filly ya gotta get back to today) god i hate this can he just kill dinky or some thing

[medictf2]

The Horde will kill all allies of Garrosh!

hydra-media.cursecdn.com/wow.gamepedia.com/8/89/Vision_of_death.jpg

[Fourpony]

4177176
The Alliance have a bit to make up for with the treatment of the orcs and undead. Though the undead now are just digging their own hole.

[Narlepoax III]

What's this a crossover of? It looks like Warcraft to me, but I don't know enough about it to be certain.

[The Blessed One]

6199311 It is most definitely a World of Warcraft crossover. The main Character (Garrosh Hellscream) of this story was killed off by Blizzard shortly after I had started writing this, and this story is really the only thing left of the Character alive.

It is rather sad really, but I am somewhat proud to be the creator of the Character's last living testament.

[AdmiralPopeyesBeard]

I want to start this story 'cause I love the Warcraft universe but I don't want to if this isn't going to be continued.

[The Blessed One]

6263806 Oh, believe me, this will be continued. I just haven't had the time to do so, what with working on my other published story and a new one I plan on releasing.

This story remains my favorite that I've made, and my first one, so it will be continued, just not very hastily.

[AdmiralPopeyesBeard]

6265113

Awesome, great to hear!

[AdmiralPopeyesBeard]

Now that I've caught up with the chapters I can't wait for more! Besides the occasional typos, I'm really enjoying the story!

Also, Fleetfoot is cute with that lisp. Also also, Derpy and Dinky, yes!

[The Blessed One]

6856803 What I want to know is, how would that even work??? Wait, never mind, I don't want to know.

6856884 ............ Stop it.

6873249 That was my editor's favorite chapter as well. Thank you.