A Savage Nature (Warcraft)

“Ready?”
 
“Hm, indeed.”
 
Rognak grins and reaches out along his connection to Nature itself. At the same time, Thrall does the same beside him, but with the Elements instead. Side by side, the druid and shaman work… and the arid, barren land beneath their feet begins to breathe with new life for the first time in who knew how long. Where once there was nothing but rock and dust, verdant green grass begins to grow. The seed that Rognak brought with him and scattered through this area begins to take root, as the water Thrall has summoned from the nearby river pours into the ground and loosens up the soil.
 
Only together have they managed to make a difference, Rognak reflects. In a way, it’s been an amazing bonding experience for the two of them. He and Thrall might want the same things for their people, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t had their differences in the past. Fortunately, Rognak had noticed the gulf growing between them before it was too late and sought a way to mend what was beginning to fray.
 
They stand in the middle of Durotar, a few hundred yards away from the new orc settlement of Orgrimmar. All had been named by Thrall himself, and Rognak hadn’t made any effort to try and convince the Orc Warchief to go with anything else. Both Durotan and Orgrim Doomhammer were incredibly important people in Thrall’s life, after all. It wasn’t Rognak’s place to question him… not on that, at least.
 
It's been several months now since the Battle for Mount Hyjal. More than half a year, in fact. In that time, the defenders of Kalimdor have all been doing their part to either rebuild what was lost or build what had never been there in the first place. With Fandral’s death, Teldrassil would never be planted, leaving the Night Elves to settle all across their forests in greater numbers then they would have in another version of events.
 
Meanwhile, Rognak and his Warsong Clan had ended up making their home in the area that would have been occupied by the Warsong Lumber Camp, if not for his interference. Instead, he and his clan had made themselves the bridge between their people and the Night Elves of Ashenvale Forest.
 
By straddling the border of the new homes that the two peoples were trying to build for themselves, Rognak and his fellow orc druids could help out their kin with projects like this, while at the same time making themselves available to their Night Elf allies, either for further druidic tutelage, or in the case that the Night Elves needed a… helping hand with any remaining demonic remnants or other would-be malcontents.
 
Orcs loved a good fight after all, and he and the Warsong Clan were perfectly positioned to get all of the best fights.
 
That said, beyond those differences… everyone else had mostly wound up where Rognak remembered them ending up from his second set of memories. Jaina and her people had settled off the coast of Dustwallow Marsh, turning an island there into the future Theramore City. For now, it was still in the process of being built up into what Rognak remembered, but he could already see what it would one day become… and it promised to be singularly amazing.
 
Meanwhile, Cairne and his Tauren had returned to Mulgore, settling the Tauren Capital of Thunderbluff. Drawing the other Tauren Tribes to him, Cairne Bloodhoof was well on his way to uniting his people under one banner… under the Horde’s banner. The Tauren had not had a unifying leader like the Bloodhoof Chieftain in quite a long time, nor had they been truly safe on the plains of Mulgore in a while either. Thunderbluff represented a new age of prosperity for the Tauren People… though Rognak knew that the Grimtotem would likely never accept Cairne’s rule, nor join the Horde in earnest. He would have to keep an eye on Magna Grimtotem, given what he knew of her future actions.
 
At the same time, the Trolls of the Darkspear Tribe had settled off the coast of Durotar, on the Echo Isles, precisely where they had in the other version of events. Consisting of only one tribe, the Darkspear might have been one of the smaller groups within the Horde, but that didn’t stop Thrall from appreciating Vol’jin’s counsel all the same. It had only taken Rognak hearing the name Zalazane in passing to remember what would happen there, but while he could certainly warn Vol’jin to keep an eye on the Witch Doctor, it was up to the Darkspear Chieftain to actually do anything about it.
 
In the end, it turned out that Zalazane was actually Vol’jin’s best friend, and for the moment at least he had not turned into the traitor he one day would. All Rognak could do was keep an eye on things on that front… and of course, make sure Durotar was as lively as it possibly could be, so that it could support the growing Horde well into the future, no matter what came.
 
Yes, because last but not least were the orcs… and they had indeed settled where Rognak’s second set of memories had told him they would. There were other places in Kalimdor that might have been better, but in the end their people had been drawn to Durotar. Why, Rognak couldn’t have said. But he knew one thing for sure… he wasn’t going to let them barely survive off of lands not meant to sustain life like they had in the video game he remembered playing.
 
That was why he and Thrall were out here, performing this combined effort on yet another portion of Durotar. They’d done this what felt like a hundred times now, and Rognak was certain that they were nearing a point where the greenery they’d been planting would at long last reach critical mass and begun expanding across the arid wasteland all on its own.
 
As they both pull back, having turned this spot of Durotar into a beautiful verdant green patch of forest at least, Rognak wipes a hand across his sweaty brow, unable to help the smile as he gazes out at what Thrall and he have created together. After a moment, he cups his hands together and gives Thrall a jokingly plaintive look.
 
In response, the Orc Warchief snorts derisively and uses the elements to direct a small stream of water into Rognak’s palms. The makeshift ‘bowl’ he’s creating fills quickly enough and Rognak brings the crystal clean water to his lips, drinking greedily and deeply. Beside him, Thrall huffs as his eyes sweep back and forth across what they’ve managed to make.
 
“Hmph. You know there are still some among our people who say we are foolish for doing this. That Durotar should remain the way it is.”
 
Side-eyeing Thrall, Rognak scoffs. He’s well aware of the old curmudgeonly fools who would prefer they suffer in some ‘struggle of strength’.
 
“Hmph. Idiots stuck in the past, the lot of them. I always wondered if they convinced you to come to Durotar because it reminded them of the world they ruined, the world they were forced to leave behind. I’ve heard tell of what Hellfire Peninsula looked like by the time they were done with it. Not too different from this… just with more Fel Magic.”
 
Thrall can’t help the corner of his mouth turning up at that, even as he shakes his head.
 
“They say that too much comfort will make us weak. That we are only as strong as we are today because of the hardships we’ve faced in the past. They’ve even set up a space down south where we have yet to reach that they’re calling the ‘Valley of Trials’, letting any young orcs who want to learn go and train in the harshest conditions that Durotar has to offer.”
 
Rognak’s eyes flash at that.
 
“The harshest conditions Durotar has to offer… for now. I will not let their insistence on suffering for strength stop us from turning Durotar into the verdant green paradise that we both know it can be. Orgrimmar is well on its way to being a fine city for our people… but where would it be without our efforts, hm?”
 
Of course, he knew where it would be. Orgrimmar would still stand, even if they hadn’t brought life to the system of craggy valleys and caverns that the city was built within. But it would not stand easily. Water would have to constantly be carted in from the nearby river, and the place would be hot and arid and just… all around nasty.
 
Rognak was glad for what it had become instead. He was especially proud of the massive collection of trees he’d managed to grow in the center of the Valley of Strength. It was not a World Tree, to be clear. Far from it. Instead, it was a grove of trees that Cenarius himself had helped Rognak design, and Thrall had provided his approval for. In the end, the grove of trees grew high above the top of the valley system, their canopies spreading out and covering most of the city, still under construction, in their shade.
 
Meanwhile, within the grove itself was where Rognak held court, so to speak. Not that he had any intention of detracting from Thrall’s leadership of the Horde. Merely… if any orcs wished to explore the idea of druidism, or even needed healing, they were welcome in Warsong Grove, where Rognak’s people stayed when they were away from their camp on the border of Ashenvale Forest.
 
“You are not wrong, Rognak. Still, we must show the proper respect to our elders. They have lived a long time and seen much. Their experience is invaluable. You antagonize them too often, I fear.”
 
Smirking, Rognak just shakes his head and reaches out, clapping Thrall on the shoulder.
 
“This is why you are Warchief and I am not, my friend. You can show them proper respect. I will never see the lot of them as more than what they are. Tired old warriors. Their experience in drinking demon blood and ruining our people’s world is not something I wish to partake in, I must admit.”
 
Thrall shoots him a look, but ultimately sighs. This is common territory for them, something they’ve retread time and time again. Though… Rognak does narrow his eyes after a moment, his pat of Thrall’s shoulder turning into a slightly harsher grip.
 
“They aren’t suggesting returning to demon worship again, are they?”
 
Thrall blinks, and then shakes his head.
 
“Ah, no… none have been foolish enough to suggest that after the united front we put on, I’m grateful to admit. Though… even then, you conflate the issue. They were not trying to return us to demon worship. They were merely suggesting that allowing warlocks into the Horde might give us much needed strength in these early years on Kalimdor.”
 
Snorting at that, Rognak nods.
 
“Right. Demon Worshippers.”
 
Giving him an exasperated look, the Orc Warchief chuckles.
 
“Your pigheadedness forces me to defend that which I hate, Rognak. Not every warlock is a demon worshipper. Some of them subjugate their summons and serve no demonic master. Even if I find their methods… distasteful, there is truth to the power they wield.”
 
Rognak’s eyes narrow as a growl builds in his chest.
 
“The only truth to their power is in its corruption, Thrall. Fel Magic is inherently corrosive to our world, just as Necromantic Magics are. Tell me, if a group of Scourge showed up tomorrow and asked to be let into the Horde, would you allow THEM to join what we are trying to build here?”
 
Taken aback by the question, Thrall scoffs.
 
“Don’t be ridiculous. The Scourge are monsters one and all. Why would they ever try to join the Horde?”
 
Thinking of a certain group in Lordaeron that may or may not end up existing given all the changes he’s made, Rognak rolls his shoulders.
 
“… It is simply a hypothetical. You wouldn’t welcome undead with open arms, would you?”
 
“No. Of course not.”
 
Nodding decisively, Rognak waves a hand through the air.
 
“Warlocks are the same. Their magic is just as harmful to our world as the very existence of the Scourge is. If a warlock were to abandon their pursuit of power and never touch another ounce of fel in their lives… then maybe I could see us letting them join the Horde. But once they touch that power, they become addicted to it. Intoxicated by it. There might be warlocks out there who claim to serve no demonic masters… but in the end, they all serve their addiction. They all serve the Fel, no matter what they might try to claim.”
 
Thrall is quiet for a moment, before slowly nodding and cracking a grin in Rognak’s direction.
 
“Heh. Save your speeches for the council meetings, Chieftain of the Warsong Clan. You already know that I agree with you on all of this. Am I not Warchief of the Horde? So long as that remains the case, you can trust that I will not allow the Legion to corrupt our people again. Nor will I allow your hypothetical Scourge to join us either.”
 
Rognak appreciates Thrall’s words. Really he does. But in the back of his mind, his second set of memories tell him that the Warchief’s convictions do not stand up to the passage of time. It will be up to Rognak to make sure Thrall stays on the straight and narrow. There are lots of things Rognak will abide by… but he draws a firm line at warlocks and undead. The Forsaken were never anything but trouble for the Horde as far as his other memories told him. And warlocks… warlocks were either demon worshippers, or sleeper agents who didn’t know they were demon worshippers just yet.
 
He remembered what the Cleft of Shadow became in the original Orgrimmar. He would not allow such a thing to happen this time around. Not on his watch. But… for the time being, he keeps such thoughts to himself, removing his hand from Thrall’s shoulder and nodding to the edge of their latest patch of greenery.
 
“Shall we?”
 
“Aye. We shall.”
 
Together, the two of them move on and perform their combined efforts to bring life and nature to Durotar once more. They can only do this one small parcel of land at a time… but both are committed. And once other shaman-druid pairs have been trained up in their technique, things will rapidly accelerate until the arid wastelands that make up the majority of Durotar are a thing of the past. This, Rognak swears.
 
-x-X-x-
 
Many hours later, at the end of a long day of grueling work, Rognak lays his head down to rest within the Warsong Grove, his eyes drifting shut as he falls asleep.
 
It feels like only moments before he awakens again… to the feel of the sharp edge of a blade at his throat. Blinking, Rognak’s eyes, adjusted to the low light, take in the figure looming over him… as well as her weapon.
 
Dressed in full Warden Garb, wielding a Night Elf Glaive at his throat, Maiev Shadowsong growls as she presses the edge into his flesh just enough to draw a droplet of blood.
 
“Rognak of the Warsong Clan, yes?
 
Hah, imagine if he said no. But no, if he tried to mess around with her, who knew how she would react. Fractionally, he nods his head. He probably shouldn’t have pushed himself so hard earlier today, because he’s still quite exhausted and his connection to Nature is… somewhat spent at the moment.
 
Humming, Maiev tightens her grip on her weapon, even as she leans in nice and close, her small fangs visible as she bares her teeth.
 
“We need to have a little chat.”
 
Well… this was apparently a thing.

-x-X-x-

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