Wormgut pushed the great wooden gate open and marched inside. The other three had already arrived, but as he came in, they grew silent, they dared not speak openly in front of him. With every step he took through the hall, they watched closely, judging him. “What?” Wormgut snapped at them. “What is it?”
Steelgrin raised a brow and shrugged, Ironfoot lowered his head, but Axehorn could hardly contain himself. He jumped from his chair. “I told, I told you this would happen, Wormgut! I told you, but you would not listen to me. Look at us now. We appear fools in the eyes of the humans, fools dressed in fancy clothes and plate, but nevertheless fools!”
Axehorn, the old git, always mouthing off. Lecturing all who would and would not listen. The ships, the sea, the lakes and even the rain filled puddles. No one was safe. Wormgut cringed at the sailor, then turned to walk alongside the wall.
There they hung, great and mighty. The warlord portraits. One of each of them. A pandaren artist had coloured his, the broad strokes nearly had him smiling. It was not a pretty depiction, he thought, but the point of portraits was not for the artistic expression. It was to show those powerful and mighty. Nobody ever drew the weak and undeserving. One next to another the warlords glared down, except for one empty spot in-between Ironfoot and Steelgrin. Where once had hung a portrait of Wolfshadow, was now a spotlessly clean square. Wormgut went and touched it. He shivered in excitement. The glare of the wolf had gone, and with it, he had broken the chains put on him. Soon all the council’s power would be his, and with it, his jailor would find a fitting end.
“The lap dog, the brown noser, the elf. The elf,” Axehorn underlined, as he continued ranting. “You and Wolfshadow, this is all your fault. Your stupid spat over nothing. This council was safe from the Banshee Queen’s direct influence. But now? An elf is coming, not just to watch over us, but to be part of our vote.” Axehorn slammed his fist down onto the table. His admiral’s hat nearly tilted off his head.
“I thought you were one for progress.” Wormgut remarked snidely, turning to face Axehorn. “Was it not you, who put the question of the clans to a vote?”
“This, this is not progress. It is destruction of our sanctity, of our autonomy, of our free-will.” The old sailor slapped his mug across the halfmoon-shaped table. As it hit the ground, the grog spilled out.
“Enough of this charade!” Steelgrin bellowed from his seat, spittle flying across the room. “We are not here to make new enemies, are we? We’re here to forge a greater future for the Horde. So calm yourselves.”
Silence fell upon the room once more. Axehorn’s resentment cooled little, but he sat back down in his chair. Wormgut could not help but feel a hint of amusement. He went and picked up the fallen mug from the floor, then made his way to his seat finally.
The old sailor sat opposite Wormgut at the table. Axehorn’s eyes peaked out underneath his hat, and lingered upon him, as he flipped the mug upside down and from hand to hand. Next to Wormgut sat Ironfoot, clutching his old and twisted cane. He too had turned his attention at Wormgut. The crippled, fat and weak-spirited warlord. Wormgut shivered at just the thought. How he had not been left in a ditch long ago, was a question nobody could answer. His beady little eyes followed the cup’s movement, as if he was entranced by it.
“Stop glaring,” Wormgut ordered.
“Yes, Wormgut,” Ironfoot replied modestly.
The only good thing to come from Ironfoot was his obedience. He had never spoken much, but the last year, he had grown even more docile during the council meetings. Wormgut loved it. No matter how much disdain Ironfoot had for him, he always backed him up in the end. How could he not? In fact, it was rare that Wormgut did not get his will through, now that Wolfshadow had been jailed for good. Steelgrin remained the only issue. The warlord who betrayed the Horde, had found it in him, to rise to the occasion, and play the voice of reason, even more than he did before Wolfshadow’s arrest. He had grown to be more than an annoyance recently, but it was only a matter of time, until Wormgut could sink his claws deeply into him. He had already made a case to Rottweld, and the overseer had approved. Once a traitor of the Horde, always a traitor. One conclusive vote against Steelgrin, and he would be removed from his position. And the best part? Steelgrin had no voice in the vote. It was only a question of time, before this council was under Wormgut’s control, and then, it could finally deal with shadow that loomed over the Horde.
“The new warlord.” Steelgrin started. “He has quite the resumé. Played an instrumental role in the downfall of the Amani Empire, by sketching out all the trolls’ movements, and singlehandedly taking down one of the greater Forest trolls. And in Northrend, without losing a single scout, he traced down both-“
Wormgut groaned loudly, interrupting Steelgrin. “His accomplishments in the past do not matter, it is what he brings to the forging of the future, right?”
“Don’t interrupt me, when I’m speaking.” Steelgrin replied sternly.
“What was his name? The elf, that is.” Axehorn had at last calmed from his earlier aneurysm.
“Did you not read the documents?” Steelgrin shook his head and gestured to the five pieces of paper before him. “It was only this little text.”
“The sea’s calling does not allow for such trifling matters.” Axehorn snorted, raising his head high.
“There’s nothing more important, than getting to know your new colleague.” Steelgrin picked one of his metal tusks. He always did that, when he was getting annoyed. “You must know of him, if you’re too work with him. One of the first things we must see to, is to accommodate his blindness.”
Blindness? Wormgut thought, still fidgeting with the mug. This cannot be the truth.
“You don’t seriously mean that, do you?” Wormgut questioned in a snarky tone.
“Of course I do, it says so in-“
Once more Wormgut interrupted. “You must be jesting. The Horde’s strained. The Alliance ready to pounce at us at every opportune moment, as if we are nothing but weak prey. And if not the Alliance, then infighting will tear us apart. We need strong leaders, whom can shoulder this heavy burden, not another bloody cripple. The Banshee Queen is playing us for fools, if she thinks this council will willingly accept one more obstacle.”
Ironfoot raised his gaze, but soon after lowered it again in defeat. Axehorn grunted and Steelgrin looked befuddled.
“Am I the only one who read the documents?” Steelgrin inquired around the table. First looking to Axehorn, who swiftly looked aside. Then to Wormgut, who glared back with his red piercing eyes. Lastly to Ironfoot, who finally confessed. “I did. I read them too.”
“What a surprise.” Wormgut said mockingly, then nudged Ironfoot’s shoulder. The warlord of paper, of course he had read it. He looked over the crippled man, then a smile spread across his lips. Maybe the blindness wasn’t so bad after all? One cripple was already easy enough to control, another, and a bit of Axehorn’s goodwill, then Steelgrin was out in the cold. Oh, I do suddenly feel all giddy , he thought. The new warlord could not make his entrance swiftly enough.
The gate creaked open, and in stepped a rotting figure. Rottweld was anything but pleasant to look at, and his smell was even worse, but at least he did not vomit out green nor purple bile. The rumour was, that his tongue had been taken from him, by a ragged group of bandits, before they had killed him for poor jokes and jests. Wormgut could hardly believe that this overseer, appointed to watch over the mighty warlord council, had been a fool in his former life. A fool he was though, easy to convince, if he felt it furthered his Queen’s interests.
Rottweld walked stiffly to the center of the room, standing right beneath the great chandelier that lit the room. The four warlords peered curiously at him. Perhaps the elf had died in transit across the sea, and he came bearing the pitiful news.
“I knew it,” Wormgut said facetiously. “The cripple’s constitution was not good enough for the harsh weather. He’s dead, is he not?”
“I am afraid not.” Rottweld glared bemusedly at Wormgut, then stepped aside to reveal three elves standing by the gate. The two, who stood guarding each side of the central figure, dressed as the spellbreakers of Silvermoon. The one in the center moved ahead of the others. His attire was not much different from the others, except it was more pompous, the colours of red and gold contrasting far greater than his kin’s armour. He appeared ceremonious, but for a black and ragged linen blindfold, which edged around his head, until it vanished underneath his shining blonde hair. “I don’t hope you four gambled too much on that.”
The elf moved up slowly, without even the hint of a smile. In his hand he held a white marble cane, guiding his path. Wormgut noticed, that the cane was topped off with a jade-looking bird head. From a wolf to a bird , he thought, how my ancestors must be smiling at me . As the elf came up beside Rottweld he stopped, as if the mute was about to break his vow of silence and introduce him. But instead of introducing, the undead skulked off to the side, leaning up against the spotless square, where Wolfshadow’s portrait had hung.
“Gentlemen, I am Kethoras Summercloud,” Kethoras started humbly. “Recently appointed to the vacant warlord seat between you.”
The four orcs all turned their attention to Wolfshadow’s former seat. She had sat in the center. Wormgut despised it. The central figurehead should have been him. Now an elf was threatening to take his rightful place. It doesn’t matter , Wormgut thought. I don’t need a seat in the center to display my power, just you wait, elf.
“Welcome to Orgrimmar,” Steelgrin rose from his seat, extending his hand toward the blind elf. When Steelgrin realized his error, the hand quickly slipped back down beside him. “I take your journey across the sea was a pleasant one. I am sure warlord Axehorn saw to that.”
“I am afraid I cannot tell you. I came in on zeppelin.” Kethoras bowed his head respectfully. “I had no choice in the matter. They said the seas were dangerous, that the Alliance had set up a blockade between the Fjord and Tirisfal.”
Without hesitation, Axehorn lunged from his chair once again. “This is what I mean. I report great need of resources northward, yet you would rather discuss troop movement. Our navy is the backbone of the Horde army, and I told you this would happen.” He glared around the table.
“We’re not here to discuss the matters of the sea,” Steelgrin wafted his hand, gesturing for Axehorn to sit back down. Yet the stubborn old sailor refused, glaring daggers back at Steelgrin.
“I understand your frustrations, I do,” the elf chimed in. “Our navy can rarely set sail anymore, out of fright that if left unprotected, the Alliance will bombard our coastal cities. We have long requested aid, but all our pleas have fallen on deaf ears.”
Axehorn snorted a nod. “That is what I mean.”
Wormgut cocked his head. Was the elf already trying to win over the old seadog?
“Why were you appointed?” Wormgut asked pointedly. “I will let you know already now, elf, that we do not take kindly to outside influence in this council. We don’t want interests that may corrupt the Horde’s vital decision-making to seep in.”
“My name is Kethoras, not elf, but you may call me Ranger-Lord Summercloud,” he calmly replied. “I was appointed by our Dark Lady to, and I quote; clean up the mess of the orcs. They always seem keen on ravaging through everything they touch. So, in other words, you may describe me as a sort of custodian.”
“Custodian?” Axehorn cocked his head in confusion. “What sort of word is that?”
“It means-“ Kethoras spoke, before he too was interrupted by Wormgut.
“It means he thinks he’s our babysitter.”
Kethoras chuckled. “No, not at all. In fact, it means I am here to, not only take on the warlord role of intelligence, but also assure the Horde’s coffers get restocked.”
“What?!” This time it was Wormgut who sprung out from his chair, nearly jumping onto the table. “How dare you! That is my role. I am the treasurer of this council!”
“You were, but look where that have gotten us.” Despite Wormgut’s outburst, the elf’s demeanor remained calm. “Our own soldiers must use old and rusted weapons, their armour patched and dented, and don’t even get me started on the despicable food you serve them. The Horde is in need of coin, we must solve the great deficit in our budget.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Wormgut continued bitterly.
“Quite simply, in fact. We downscale the operations of the council. I recommend the removal of the special operatives and airforce sections. They are both small and costly. That would plaster our finances quite well in the short term.”
Everything suddenly slowed down around Wormgut. He’s suggesting getting rid of me . He turned Axehorn’s empty mug in his hand and stared down into the abyss of it. The bottom of the mug was dark. Shadows began crawling out, latching onto his wrists. Soon they enveloped him completely, turning into tight shackles. No, no, no , this cannot be happening. The council is mine! He struggled with the shadows, as they squeezed the life out of him. It’s mine!
“Hold up a second.” Steelgrin lowered both his hand, gesturing for all to remain calm. “I don’t think you’re well off making enemies with one of the council members, before you’ve officially begun your duties. How about we all sit down peacefully, raise a cup in your honour and start all over?”
Kethoras smiled warmly back at Steelgrin. “You’re mistaken, my good man. I’m not here to make friends with you, I’m here to guide the Horde forward. Is that not why we are all here?”
Steelgrin stumbled back bewildered by the elf’s blunt candor. Wormguts eyes followed closely, as Steelgrin slowly resigned to his seat.
“I think it’s a splendid idea.” Ironfoot peeped out.
No. Everything was spinning, he felt dizzy. How dare they? The bloody cripples are already banding together against me. This is my council! I need it!
“Ironfoot shut up,” Axehorn growled. “Nobody asked you.”
“No, I won’t shut up anymore.” Ironfoot coughed and swayed in his chair, as if he was about to keel over. “The elf is absolutely right. Those two sections make for our greatest financial losses. So much coin is spent on the air fleet. A fleet we never use.”
Wormgut turned in horror to look down at Ironfoot. How? He had been under Wormgut’s thumb for so long. How could he rise in opposition now? It did not matter; the fat cripple would suffer greatly for this treason.
“It is quite alright, gentlemen. I do not expect you to make up your minds today.” Kethoras noted in a cool and contemplating tone. “We will first have to deliberate on the matter, before we take a vote. It will have to be unanimous, after all.”
“I refuse!” Wormgut snarled.
“That doesn’t matter.” The elf smiled back. “I take you know the rules of the council. You’re not part of the vote. It would be against common decency, if you were to be involved in a vote, that would see you dismissed.”
“Will you just stand there unflinching, whilst this damned elf threatens me, and tears apart the foundations of the council?” Wormgut glared at Rottweld, who did not at all react to the scornful tone.
“Accursed mute”, Wormgut growled lowly. Without second thought, an arrow launched toward his head from Rottweld’s direction. I’m going to die now , he thought. Yet the arrow latched into the wooden wall behind him. He was sweating all over. This could not be happening to him. Who was this elf, and why did he want rid of him? They had not ever spoken prior to this.
“Calm. All of you, please.” Steelgrin rose again and pleaded.
“I am calm.” Kethoras asserted.
Axehorn quietly sat back down into his chair, shooting a piercing glance at Kethoras. Ironfoot nodded his head to the elf, and Wormgut stood with his mouth fully agape. The cold sweat running down his cheeks. He glanced to the arrow, which had nearly ended his life. It was as black as the void, coiled and cold. Once he looked back out into the room, the shadows reached out, enclosing around him. He glanced at the others, yet none seemed to acknowledge what was happening. No, not again.
“You thought you could be free of me?” The deep dark voice clamored in his head.
No, please, I didn’t mean to betray you. Wormgut begged . I will do as you have ordered, please stop this torture. The voice did not reply.
Wormgut wiped the sweat off his face, and as the room appeared in front of him again, a great shadowy figure stood before him, an enormous scythe in its hand. “All your time as a torturer, Wormgut, and yet you know not the extent of true suffering. You think what you did to Wolfshadow was gruesome? I will make it tenfold.”
He dropped Axehorn’s mug onto the floor. It echoed in the room, and all the warlords looked at him.
“What?” He snapped at them. “What do you want from me?!” Wormgut pushed the halfmoon-shaped table clumsily aside and stormed past the elf and his escort. I’m not finished , he thought. You will all cry for mercy before I’m through. This council is mine!