A Nerubian's Journey

Orgrim found it a strange experience to know with certainty that he wouldn’t live to see another day. That he wouldn’t breathe another breath, feel the warmth of the sun on his face, or defeat another enemy in combat. His death wouldn’t come in glorious combat, but would instead be delivered by the cold, honorless hands of an executioner.

As he sat in front of a desk with parchment and one of the humans' strange writing utensils in hand, the once proud Warchief couldn’t help but wonder where everything had gone wrong. It was easy and comforting to blame his people’s fate on Gul’dan and his foul magic, but isolation had forced Orgrim to be… introspective. Gul’dan and his warlocks may have led them to their corruption, but his people had chosen to walk down that path themselves.

Everything had seemed hopeless once Draenor’s elements had abandoned them and their world was torn apart by calamities. Disease had caused orc men, women, and children to rot away in front of their eyes while the land itself seemed to reject them. The clans had been led to believe that the draenei were the ones responsible for this, and they had united in their thirst for vengeance.

It was only recently that he had learned that it was all a lie…

One of his captors had informed him that Gul’dan had been killed and his mind ripped apart for all the information it held. When they told him the truth of what had happened, that Gul’dan was the one to corrupt the elements and doom Draenor, Orgrim had first believed it was a lie meant only to hurt him. He still believed their intent was to make him suffer by making his failures clear, but he now believed their words to be the truth. It made far more sense than what the Shadow Council had told the chieftains.

And if their words were the truth… then his people had truly lost all honor. Their ancestors would look down on them with shame for generations and Orgrim had done nothing but lead them further into dishonor. For generations, a prophecy had been passed down through his bloodline about their namesake relic, the Doomhammer.

Through blood the weapon shall pass, as surely as night begets day. Until the elements cry unheard, and pride turns to unbridled rage. The last of the line shall deliver salvation and doom upon his kind. Honor will be undone and all will be lost, before it is found again. A stranger will raise the hammer high, and with it justice shall reign.

It was only after he had been captured and taken to his cell that Orgrim realized the prophecy had been referring to him. He would be the last of his line. He was the one who had delivered doom upon his kind. He would go down in history as a failure who led the orcs to their darkest moment.

The prophecy spoke of a stranger who would take up the Doomhammer and help his people find justice and honor once again, but Orgrim wouldn’t be alive to see it. His weapon had been taken by that damned dragon and its fate was completely outside of his control. Instead, the only thing Orgrim could do was think about his choices and write down his thoughts in Orcish for the next generation. He had no doubt the Alliance had given him the chance to write to his people with the intention of twisting his words and using them for their own gain, but Orgrim couldn’t resist the temptation to record his true thoughts and regrets.

He’d already finished writing down everything he intended to over the past few months and was now just looking over it again.

“Orc! You’ve got a visitor! Someone wants to talk to you before your head gets lopped off!”

Orgrim was pulled from his thoughts by the rough words of one of the human guards. He’d received many visits from the Alliance, so this wasn’t a surprise to him. Orgrim stood from his seat and made his way over to the arcane barrier separating his cell from the rest of the world and waited for them to arrive.

When the boy-king of the first human kingdom the Horde had destroyed showed himself alongside Anduin Lothar, Orgrim let out a mirthless chuckle.

“I’ve been expecting to see you for months, yet you never came. I should have known that you would only show yourself on the day of my execution,” Orgrim said bitterly. “Are you here to gloat over your victory, or perhaps you want one last chance to break my spirit?”

He couldn’t imagine the boy-king visiting him for any other reason, given that the Alliance mages had long since pulled all the information they wanted from his mind. He was only glad that he never learned where exactly the Frostwolf Clan had settled when they left the Horde.

Contrary to his expectations, the two humans remained silent as they studied him with inscrutable expressions.

“Well? Do you have something to say, humans?” Orgrim asked, annoyed by their silence.

When the boy-king finally spoke, his voice was far calmer than Orgrim would have expected. “I thought you would be a lot more… intimidating. I was expecting to find a monster, but you remind me more of a pathetic animal just waiting to die.”

Orgrim roared and smashed his fist against the barrier, the force of his anger causing the magic to flicker. He was annoyed when neither of the humans flinched at his outburst. “Would you say the same if this barrier wasn’t separating us, boy?!”

“I would. I’ve seen that hopeless expression on your face far too many times already from countless others,” said the boy-king, his eyes wiser than his years. “I’ve seen it on the soldiers sent out to war. I’ve seen it on the faces of my subjects after they were forced to flee their homes. I’ve seen it in the mirror after the only orc my father trusted betrayed him and carved out his heart in front of me. I know what hopelessness looks like and you are no better off than the rest of us, orc.”

Orgrim wanted to snarl and rage at the boy-king, but he couldn’t muster the will. The fire inside him had long since been extinguished by his imprisonment.

“What do you want?” Orgrim asked, his voice completely void of emotion.

“I wanted to look into the eyes of the monster responsible for the destruction of Stormwind and ask him why he did what he did,” said the boy-king, his voice shaking with anger. “We could have had peace if you had just been willing to listen to my father’s pleas. We could have cooperated and found a way to help your people, but instead, you chose to wage a pointless war! Why?!”

The boy-king was yelling by the time he was done speaking while Lothar stood by his side silently, glaring at Orgrim with hatred in his eyes.

“You don’t understand what it means to be an orc. None of you do,” Orgrim said after a few moments of silence. “To be an orc means to struggle against a world doing everything it can to destroy you. To be an orc means to fight for every breath, every morsel of food, and every drop of water. You humans don’t know what it is like to struggle to survive every second of every day… and that was before our world began to die. Your father could have offered us everything we ever wanted, and we wouldn’t have accepted it unless we paid for it in blood and tears.”

Orgrim had come to learn that Azeroth was a world with just as many dangers as Draenor, but life on this world was surprisingly kind to its weaker inhabitants. On Draenor, there was no room to tolerate weakness, no room for negotiations, and certainly no room to indulge in mercy. The Horde had been born out of desperation and a desire for survival, and it had forged them into a force capable of conquering worlds.

“I heard that you were one of the few orcs who didn’t drink from the demon’s blood,” said Lothar, speaking for the first time since the humans arrived. “Unlike the rest of your kin, you don’t have even a paltry excuse for your actions. You could have chosen to lead your people to a brighter future, but you didn’t. That is nobody's failure but your own, Orgrim Doomhammer.”

Orgrim scoffed at the human's words. “If you truly believe that I could have forced the Horde to accept peace, then you understand us even less than I thought. Even before the Horde was corrupted by Gul’dan’s dark magic, we had already ravaged our world and either slain or enslaved its inhabitants. War was our inescapable fate from the moment that the Dark Portal was opened.”

It was a bitter conclusion to accept, but it was one that Orgrim had reached after months of isolation and introspection. Peace was never a possibility, and he very much doubted that the Horde would be able to ever integrate into this world. They simply weren’t made for it.

“I don’t believe you,” said Lothar, his voice firm and unwavering. “We learned from Gul’dan’s memories that Garona was being controlled by magic when she murdered King Llane. Until that moment, I came to view her as a friend and saw with my own eyes that orcs were capable of more than just violence and destruction. There was a chance for peace, but you chose not to take it.”

Orgrim had nearly forgotten about Gul’dan’s pet assassin. He had given her over to a veteran warrior by the name of Eitrigg and hadn’t thought of her since. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that Gul’dan had been controlling her with magic, but the human was misguided if he thought she represented orcs.

“Garona was nothing more than a half-orc pet of Gul’dan. True orcs will always return to their roots, and you’re hopelessly naive if you believe otherwise,” Orgrim said derisively. The Alliance might one day succeed in pacifying his people by placing them in camps and attempting to indoctrinate them, but it would be useless. Unless they were led by someone who truly understood orcs, peace would never last.

Orgrim suspected that a part of Lothar must have known his words to be the truth because the human warrior fell silent. Instead, it was the boy-king who spoke up next in a quiet voice. “I know that if my father were here, he would urge me to seek peace and forgive the Horde for what they have done, but I don’t know if I can. When I look at you, the only thing that I feel is pain and hatred.”

Orgrim knew exactly how the boy felt. When the Red Pox swept through Draenor and the world began to die, he had also felt nothing but pain and despair. Even if he hadn’t fully trusted Gul’dan’s claims that the draenei were responsible for their suffering, it was so easy to lose himself to bloodlust. That was probably why he found the boy-king’s next words to be so surprising.

“But… I still think it’s worth hoping that our people can live in peace, even if I’m never able to stop hating orcs. Now that I’m here I’ve realized that I don’t want to end up like you, spending my remaining days wondering what the world could have looked like if I had chosen to believe that things could have been different,” said the boy-king, his words cutting Orgrim deeper than even that sharpest knife.

“You’re going to be disappointed, boy. Life isn’t a shaman’s story, and it rarely has a happy ending.”

“Maybe, and if your people prove incapable of living peacefully on Azeroth, then we will do what needs to be done,” said the young king, his eyes hard as he looked up to the much larger orc. “But I still believe it is worth trying. I owe my father at least this much and I genuinely hope you’re wrong about your people. My people have suffered enough from war for one lifetime.”

As Lothar looked down at the young king with pride in his eyes, Orgrim found himself unsure of what to say. After several moments, he settled on an honest response. “I hope I’m wrong as well, boy.”

He doubted that he was, but he hoped that those who came after him would make better decisions and lead the orcs to a better future. Apparently having nothing left to say to him, the young king gave a satisfied nod and turned to leave as he delivered a final comment. “You will not be missed, Orgrim Doomhammer. Azeroth will be a better place once you are gone.”

Lothar glared at him silently for several moments before following the boy without another word.

Orgrim’s gaze followed them until they left his line of sight. Once they were gone, he let out a heavy sigh and returned to his desk. As he looked down at the words he had written, Orgrim thought about the young king’s words and he recalled the prophecy of the Doomhammer.

The prophecy had correctly predicted that the last of his family’s line would doom the orcish people, so he had some hope that the rest would prove just as accurate. The prophecy predicted that a stranger would wield the Doomhammer and bring salvation to his people, so maybe the young king’s hopes weren’t as naive as they sounded.

As he contemplated this distant possibility, Orgrim decided to add one final entry to his writings, a message to the one who would wield the Doomhammer.

“Whoever takes up the Doomhammer after me, know that you carry the weight of an entire people’s hopes and dreams. Do not make the same mistakes I did. Seek the wisdom of the spirits of the land around you to lead our people to a better future. A future in which they can regain their honor and live without the shame that my generation has placed on their shoulders. The future of the orcs now lies in your hands. May you be the salvation they so desperately need.”

Orgrim hoped that this letter would actually find its way to their hands.

With his final words committed to parchment, Orgrim placed the human writing utensil down and leaned back in his chair. He knew that his time was coming to an end and that there was nothing left for him to do. As he closed his eyes and waited for the humans to drag him to his inevitable end, Orgrim Doomhammer made peace with his fate and prayed to the spirits that his people would one day find theirs.

Korialstrasz, though he still used Krasus while wearing his mortal guise, used magic to hover in the air over the recently plowed field as he waited for the human farmers to finish planting their seeds.

He’d flown over the fields in his true form at first, but he could tell that the mortals weren’t exactly comfortable with having a dragon flying over them. It didn’t help that the wind caused by his wings made their tasks significantly more difficult.

“Uh… I think we’re ready, mister dragon.”

Krasus looked down at the young farmer boy who had nervously called for him and offered the boy what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Very well. Then I’ll begin using my magic to accelerate the growth of your crops. I’d suggest that you move out of the way if this makes you uncomfortable.”

Most of the humans did exactly that, but the boy who had called for him shifted hesitantly before asking Krasus a question. “Y-You said that the magical fire you use to grow the plants is safe, right? And that it heals people?”

Krasus’ Life-infused fire was perfectly able to burn anything it touched to ash if he willed it, but mentioning that didn’t seem prudent. “It does. Do you have a wound that needs healing?”

“I hurt my feet a bit while working in the fields yesterday,” the boy admitted, looking down at his worn-out shoes. “I can still work! But… it hurts a whole lot, and I know the priests are really busy….”

Krasus sympathized with the boy and was glad that this was such a simple problem for him to solve. “Say no more, child. Just stay where you are and my flames will heal you as I bring Life to these crops.”

Krasus could tell that some of the other mortals were distrusting of him, but there was little they could do. The child might be little more than a whelp in his eyes, but he was old enough to be considered an adult by the laws of Lordaeron.

The boy looked up at Krasus with a mixture of hope and trepidation in his eyes. He took a deep breath and nodded, signaling that he was ready.

Krasus concentrated carefully. It was a simple matter to summon his Life-infused flames in his true form, but slightly more difficult in his mortal guise. Reaching toward that essence of Life that existed within every member of the Red Dragonflight, Krasus lifted his hand and released a controlled stream of vermillion flames that swept through the field. Wherever it passed, the seeds buried beneath the earth began to sprout and grow at an astonishing rate, quickly maturing into healthy and vibrant crops.

As always, the humans stared in awe at the miraculous sight and their apprehension temporarily disappeared as they watched food grow before their very eyes. The fire soon washed over the boy’s feet, and he gasped in surprise as the pain he had been feeling disappeared and was replaced by a soothing warmth.

“Thank you, mister dragon,” the boy said, his voice filled with gratitude. “My feet don’t hurt no more!”

Krasus smiled warmly at the boy, glad that he had been able to help. “You’re welcome, young one. I’m glad that I could be of assistance.”

As the farmers gathered their tools and set to work harvesting the newly grown crops, Krasus flew a short distance away and prepared a teleportation spell.

This was the final field Krasus planned to assist with for the day. His Flight was hard at work doing their part to ensure the mortals could feed themselves and their prisoners, so there would be someone available to take his place while he traveled back to Dalaran ahead of the significant occasion.

Although Krasus didn’t typically find such morbid events appealing, Orgrim Doomhammer’s execution was one that would be attended by every politically significant figure in the Eastern Kingdoms.

Including a certain Vizier who Krasus was quite keen on seeing, but hadn’t had the opportunity to do so recently. When Krasus had heard from his beloved that Vizier Krivax was some manner of seer who was responsible for sending him the letter detailing Deathwing’s intentions, he’d wanted to meet the nerubian immediately. That desire only grew once Alexstrasza informed him that she’d gifted the Vizier with a portion of her power. Such a thing wasn’t unheard of amongst the Dragonflights, but it was rare that an Aspect would bestow a mortal with such an honor.

Finishing his spell, Krasus disappeared from the fields of Eastweald and reappeared in Dalaran’s main portal hub. Upon arriving, Krasus was immediately greeted by one of the city’s guards as he went through the administrative process of recording his entrance into Dalaran. Once that was taken care of, he immediately started heading toward the city’s exit.

The execution grounds had been placed within the city at first, but things had started to get a bit… out of hand.

“Monster!”

“Murderous animal! You’ll get what you deserve!”

“I hope you suffer, orc!”

Krasus’ attention turned toward a snarling orc that was being marched in chains from the Violet Hold toward the execution grounds. Mortals cursed, spat on, and threw rotten fruit at the prisoner as he passed through the streets.

When the Alliance agreed to allow their citizens to bring accusations against individual members of the Horde for their crimes, Krasus had assumed that there wouldn’t be many occasions of this happening. Times of war were always chaotic, and finding the individual orcs who slaughtered your family or destroyed your village was a daunting task.

Krasus shouldn’t have underestimated the lengths mortals would go to for their vengeance. Almost immediately, prominent nobles hoping to gain favor with their subjects began to fund groups of investigators dedicated to finding the orcs responsible for specific crimes. These groups scoured records, interviewed survivors, and pieced together evidence that would lead to the identification and eventual execution of many orcs. Funding for these efforts was so high that Dalaran had seen several innovations in the field of divination magic in recent times.

Consequently, the number of executions had soared far beyond anyone's expectations and the streets of Dalaran grew packed with the number of people wishing to watch the orcs meet their ends.

As Krasus made his way out of the city, the crowds thickened and he found himself caught in a sea of people all headed towards the execution grounds. The grounds had been moved to a large, open area outside the city walls in order to accommodate the ever-growing number of spectators. Many rows of wooden benches had been erected to provide seating for the onlookers, while a raised platform held the block upon which Orgrim Doomhammer would soon be decapitated.

Although he couldn’t help but find the spectacle a bit distasteful, Krasus understood well why these events were so popular. Hatred always followed large wars, and the Horde’s crimes were even more heinous than most. He could spot people from all over the Eastern Kingdoms and even make out rows of merchants looking to take advantage of the large crowd.

Krasus turned his attention away from the sight and decided to focus on his true objective. Closing his eyes, the Archmage stretched his senses out over the field and searched for the steady flame of Life magic that was almost as familiar as his own. He could sense a few other members of the Red Dragonflight in the crowd, but it didn’t take very long for him to find the person he was looking for. Although Vizier Krivax held only a tiny portion of his beloved’s power, it still held a potency that made it wholly distinct.

Deciding that he had no interest in pushing his way through the crowd, Krasus cast a quick levitation spell and began flying toward his objective. The Vizier was surrounded by guards and seated in a special area reserved for high-ranking officials and nobles. The nerubian guards visibly tensed as he approached, but Vizier Krivax seemed to have sensed him and quickly waved them off.

“Vizier Krivax. It’s good to see you again,” Krasus greeted as he touched down next to the nerubian and took in his new appearance.

Where before Vizier Krivax possessed a brown carapace, his outer layer was now as brightly red as Krasus’ own scales and his robes were now a dark purple. He could even see that the nerubian had a few scales intermingling with his chitinous plates, especially around the joints. Although he still possessed eight eyes, the two largest had taken on a more draconic appearance with slit pupils and a faint glow. His limbs were thicker, his mandibles were sharper and more robust, and he exuded a sense of power that hadn’t previously existed. The nerubian even seems to have grown since the last time Krasus had seen him, standing slightly taller than any other Vizier he had seen.

Overall, most people who saw Vizier Krivax would find him even more intimidating than most nerubians… until he spoke that is.

“It’s good to see you too, Archmage Krasus,” said Vizier Krivax, his voice as cheerful and friendly as ever. “I was a bit worried about you after I heard that you would no longer be a member of the Council of Six. I’m glad to see that you’re doing well and still in Dalaran.”

Krasus could feel his smile grow a bit dimmer as he remembered his meetings with the Council of Six, but he took the Vizier’s words in stride. “Thank you, Vizier Krivax. It’s unfortunate, but I actually find myself to be quite relieved for the opportunity to remain a member of the Kirin Tor without hiding my identity.”

Unfortunately, helping Capital City fight off the C’thrax didn’t change the fact that he had lied to the ruling body of Dalaran for his entire time as a member of the Kirin Tor and hid his true loyalties. Divided loyalties were tolerated in the case of Prince Kael’thas because they were known and Dalaran’s relationship with Quel’thalas was very close.

It also didn’t help that Krasus had secretly used his authority in service to the Red Dragonflight a few times over his long tenure or that Alexstrasza was unpopular with many influential people due to her actions regarding the orc internment camps.

Still, things could have turned out much worse and he could still count some of his former colleagues as friends.

“But that’s enough about me. I’m far more interested in talking about you,” said Krasus, his smile returning as he focused on the Vizier. “You’ve been a hard person to get in touch with recently, Vizier Krivax.”

“Ah. Well, the High King called me back to Azjol-Nerub after he heard about what happened in Uldaman,” said Vizier Krivax, chuckling nervously as he explained himself. “The Queens were… extremely interested in studying my transformation. I’m fairly sure the only reason I’m not still being poked and prodded is that the kingdom needed me to return to my position.”

That didn’t surprise Krasus in the least. The nerubians seemed competent enough to realize that Vizier Krivax was their most personable diplomat.

“What did you tell your ruler about my beloved’s gift?” Krasus asked curiously after casting a privacy ward to prevent any eavesdroppers.

“Uh, how much do you know?” Vizier Krivax asked after a moment of hesitation.

“My Queen has informed me that you’re the seer responsible for sending me that letter,” Krasus readily admitted. “I’ve also been told that this should be kept a secret. I suspect that there’s more to the story, but the Aspects are reticent about their meeting with you. I believe the only reason that I’ve been told this much is that my beloved wishes to send me to handle a few matters in Draenor based on the information that you’ve provided.”

His conversation with his Queen after she’d returned from Uldaman had been confusing, but positive overall. The Aspects seemed to have found a path to finally slay the traitorous Deathwing and were currently traveling to Deepholm. Krasus didn’t know all of the details, but he was eagerly awaiting the good news and his beloved’s return.

She had made clear to him that they would all have much to do once the Aspects returned.

Vizier Krivax slumped in relief at his answer before he responded. “I see. I’m glad to hear that the Aspects are keeping this to a small circle. The matter is… quite sensitive. As for the High King, he believes that the Aspects have a close relationship with Keeper Archaedas and Alexstrasza was extremely grateful to me once she learned that I was the one who found Uldaman. I informed him that Alexstrasza gave me this reward for helping the Aspects discover a way to reach Deathwing.”

Krasus chuckled in amusement. He had never heard the Aspects say a good word about any of the Keepers aside from Tyr and Freya, but there was hardly anyone who would know that. Finding a path to Deathwing was also a great achievement worthy of reward. It was a simple and effective lie that nobody would be able to prove false. “Did they believe you?”

“Dragons already have a reputation for being a bit… arbitrary in their decisions, and not enough is known about Alexstrasza for the High King and his council to know if this is out of character,” Vizier Krivax explained. “I think the Queens were so eager to study me that nearly everyone just decided to accept it and move forward.”

Krasus was glad to hear that. There were many races that wouldn’t have so easily accepted one of their own being significantly transformed, but the nerubians seemed far too pragmatic to concern themselves with a few differences.

Their conversation remained pleasant and light as the two of them discussed a variety of matters, from diplomacy to magic. Eventually, Krasus decided to bring up the primary reason that he had decided to seek out the nerubian.

“Vizier Krivax, I’m sure that you’ve already heard this from my beloved, but I wanted to express my deepest gratitude for what you’ve done for us,” said Krasus. When he thought of what might have happened without the nerubian’s interference, he was barely able to contain his rage. “I also wanted to ask if you need any assistance in adjusting to your new abilities. I doubt that there’s anyone on Azeroth more qualified to do so than myself.”

There were a few other members of the Red Dragonflight who had delved into Arcane magic, but none who were as accomplished as himself. He dared to say that he could even match most of the Blue Dragonflight in that area.

Krasus was somewhat amused to find that he could read Vizier Krivax’s body language much better after his transformation, and the nerubian’s interest was quite clear.

“Really? That would be a big help. I’ve been experimenting with my magic from the moment I left Uldaman, but it’s still a bit hard to understand,” said Vizier Krivax, extending one of his lower arms and summoning a small sphere of Life-infused flame. “I can do this pretty easily, but I don’t really understand how Life magic works, or why it affects my Arcane magic. Ever since my empowerment, my normal spells keep doing things I don’t want them to. It’s very frustrating.”

Krasus hummed thoughtfully. He had a feeling about what was going on, but he wanted to be certain of it first. “Vizier Krivax, could you summon a small sphere of water? I have a theory that I would like to verify.”

The Vizier immediately created a small sphere of floating water between them, and Krasus was unsurprised to note that it seemed to be writhing erratically.

“See? This spell is one of the simple ones I learned as a novice, but it’s acting strangely,” Vizier Krivax said, sounding frustrated. “The spell is correct, but it shouldn’t be moving around like this.”

Krasus smiled reassuringly. This wasn’t a problem that he’d had to deal with himself, but it wasn’t unheard of. “I believe I understand what is happening. My beloved’s power is quite possibly the purest source of Life magic still on Azeroth. Even as small of a portion as it is, her power has become a fundamental part of your being and is affecting your entire magical essence. As a result, it is intermingling with your arcane magic and is giving it a certain life-like quality, causing unpredictable effects.”

Krasus idly poked the sphere and chuckled when it attempted to leap at his finger. “You will have to learn to properly separate your magics, but on the bright side, it should be relatively simple for you to learn how to summon a water elemental. You’ll need to keep testing to see how it can be useful in other ways as Life is an extremely powerful force.”

“Really? I’ve always wanted to summon a water elemental,” said Vizier Krivax, glancing toward his sphere. “Do you have any advice for me on how I can actually isolate these magics? Life magic just seems to come naturally whenever I want to cast something.”

“Of course,” said Krasus, glad he could be of assistance.

Krasus taught the young nerubian several tricks that would help him adjust his mindset and call only on the type of magic he wanted. Different magics typically required different mentalities to use, but Vizier Krivax was having difficulty because he could now call on Life subconsciously.

It didn’t surprise him to find that Vizier Krivax’s Life magic was even purer than his own. Such was to be expected given its source. It did mean that the Vizier would likely be prodigious in the art of creating golems if he ever chose to pursue such a path, something which sent the nerubian into a thoughtful silence when he heard.

Their conversation continued until they were suddenly interrupted by the blaring of a loud horn, signaling the arrival of Orgrim Doomhammer at the execution grounds. Krasus and Krivax exchanged a solemn glance as the crowd's murmurs grew louder. After a few moments, Krasus spotted the orc being led toward the platform in chains while being completely surrounded by heavily armored guards.

As the executioner stepped up onto the platform and the mortal representatives responsible for overseeing his trial took their position, a hush fell over the crowd. Much to Krasus’ relief, it seemed like the mortals didn’t intend to waste any time as they began reading the sentence as soon as the orc stepped onto the platform.

“Orgrim Doomhammer, you have been found guilty by a duly appointed council of judges of numerous war crimes against the people of Azeroth,” said Chief Judge Farthing, a bishop of the Church. His voice was cold and authoritative as he read out the orc’s sentence. “You have consorted with foul magical forces inimical to life, commanded armies that massacred countless innocent civilians, and caused immeasurable pain and suffering throughout these lands. Today, you will pay for those crimes with your life.”

The other judges present, who were a collection of high-ranking representatives from the rest of the mortal nations, nodded solemnly in agreement. The crowd’s murmurs grew into a cacophony of jeers and cheers, as those who had suffered at the hands of the Horde clamored for justice. Krasus could feel the weight of this moment as the officials struggled to get the crowd under control.

Once the grounds were finally quiet enough for her to be heard, the chief judge continued with an unwavering voice. “Before your sentence is carried out, does the prisoner have any last words?”

There was a moment of silence as the crowd seemed to lean in at the question.

“None that would matter to any here,” Doomhammer eventually stated, much to the renewed jeers of the countless surrounding him.

Once the crowd fell silent, the Chief Judge continued once again. “Very well. The sentence that has been handed down by this council is death by beheading. May the Light grant you mercy. Executioner, you may proceed.”

The massive, hooded executioner stepped forward, his ax gleaming in the sunlight. Orgrim Doomhammer was unflinching as he was forced to kneel on the platform and his head was pushed down onto the block. The executioner wasted no time and raised his ax high above his head as the orc stared him straight in the eye. Krasus could almost hear the crowd hold their breath as the ax was brought down in a swift, decisive motion upon Orgrim Doomhammer’s neck. The crowd erupted into cheers as the orc’s lifeless body slumped to the ground, his head rolling a few feet away.

Thus was Orgrim Doomhammer, Warchief of the Horde and the greatest threat in recent generations, finally slain.