Courtiers, the sons an' daughters of Ironforge's greatest, scattered before him like pebbles before a rockslide. Each taking no more than a single glance at his procession, feeling as much as seeing the cause of the sound of crashing steel that boomed through the Halls of the Assembly, before pressing themselves against the walls, into niches beside the reliefs of their honoured ancestors, or escaping into whatever side chambers they could reach.
When the days were good, Magni would slow an' walk with a chosen few. To hear their troubles, listen to the latest squabbles between the Stonehallows an' Redstones, heed the wisdom of the Anvilmars, or even entertain offers of a drink when the day was done.
All to better know his people, his city, an' those that managed the matters he could no' spare the attention to handle personally.
But this day was no' a good one. Only once before, when news of his brother's betrayal an' death at the hands of the boy prince that he had helped raise, had he felt a greater fury.
Seeing the doors to the Chamber of Brotherhood ahead, the chamber he had built especially for the use of the Alliance an' their emissaries when they visited his city, his grip tightened around Fearbreaker, the inner light of his ancestor's hammer rising in response to his anger.
"Who's arrived?" Magni demanded of the dwarven guards on duty in his own tongue, uncaring for the glance given by the Lordaeron human that stood beside them. "An' what's been happening in there?"
Behind him his escort planted their glaives, the sound of adamantine drumming on stone filling the hall, but with a hint of pride, Magni saw that the dwarf before him did no' flinch or react at their display. Solid Bronzebeard stock from smelting to quenching.
"Only waitin' on tae archmages, Yer Majesty." He saluted, shield striking helmet like the crisp ringing of a bell. "Before ye was tae High Thane o' tae Wildhammers, an' it were getting loud 'fore we closed the doors. Even had tae stop these ones," he shrugged at the humans in Stormwind plate standing stiffly, "from tryin' tae break in."
"The high thane ain't happy with Stormwind's king." A second agreed with a nod. "That be for sure. Were even some thunder inside."
Magni grunted, unsurprised by the high thane's anger, but choosing no' to comment. Instead, he raised his arm an' ran a hand along the relief that decorated the heavy stone doors of the chamber. Ten faces, one so similar to his own, stared back down at him – the signatories to the Alliance of Lordaeron at the end of the Second War. No' even two decades on an' there were barely even half of 'em left...
First to go had been Lothar, best ruddy human he'd ever had the honour to fight alongside. Dead before the treaties had been signed, but no one would contest his place amongst the rest.
Alleria an' Kurdran hadn't been long after, both lost beyond the Dark Portal alongside the rest of Lothar's lieutenants. An' even if Anastarion had gotten off his arrogant arse to come sign the damn things, he was gone now too. Just like Terenas. Just like Muradin. All because of a boy they had all thought was their future.
He clenched his hands into fists an' glowered aimlessly, the rising hum of the stone before him ignored for the moment. The Alliance weren't dead yet an' he'd be damned if he let it die while his heart were still beating.
With the lightest touch, the doors swung open eagerly, revealing the two sides that had been carved out within the hall. Calia Menethil stood beside Varian Wrynn, conversing amongst themselves before he interrupted. Opposite, an' glowering silently, were Falstad – the anger on his kin's face worn openly. Gelbin were next to him, seemingly disinterested, but the impatient tapping of his foot told Magni another story.
Last were Daelin Proudmoore, intensely and likely purposefully examining a portrait of the first council in Lordaeron's halls, where Lothar convinced the gathered kings to work together against the orcs.
"You are late, Magni." Gelbin said tartly as the doors closed behind him. "I've been forced to spend no less than half an hour, forty three minutes to be exact, listening to the arguments put forth by the representatives of Stormwind and Lordaeron–" An' now he weren't even using their names or titles, Gelbin werenae happy at all. "–for why they sabotaged our relations with Gilneas! I should be assisting in preparing the logistics for the reclamation of Lordaeron, or at least working on new methods of ensuring the troggs don't return as a problem, not here listening to the same repetitious excuses from those who know better!"
Holding back a snort Magni walked past the silent Daelin to stand beside his seat at the head of the chamber. "Me apologies, there were matters in the Senate that needed resolving." He said flatly, eyes trailing away from Gelbin to fall onto Wrynn. "Some folk convinced me own senators that they needed the schedules of me guests. An' others decided that a 'peasant girl' weren't worth me time."
If it weren't bad enough that Senator Brightwater, the dwarf that'd taken charge of handling the Gilneans, had been conspiring behind his back with Wrynn, it turned out she'd only gotten the position due to past experience with Gilneans. Experience that ended in the loss of her investments when Genn left to build his damnable wall.
Shoving the Gilneans into an inferior residence, putting the least experienced emissaries in charge of handling them, 'losing' paperwork, and outright ignoring requests to meet Magni or the senate. It were a travesty – no' since the Thaurassians and their ilk were around to piss on all things honourable had Ironforge borne such treachery from its own within its halls.
"As leaders of the Alliance, it is not only our right, but our duty, to interrogate those that withhold vital information pertaining to our kingdoms." Wrynn retorted coldly, glaring down at Gelbin from afar. "Especially those with such duplicitous leanings."
"Ye dinnae–!" Falstad started furiously, fist raised and shaking, but Magni raised his own hand to silence him.
"Aye, ye have that right." Magni said flatly. Falstad growled angrily but Magni did no' lower his hand. "In yer own lands. No' ye, nor even yer father," he shot a glare at Calia for her part in things, "had that right here. Not to usurp me council, corrupt me senate, nor attack me guest in me own city without a word of what ye be planning tae me!" His voice became a roar, but, at this point, he did no' care. "Ye abused me hospitality! Lied to me! Used me authority for yer plan, an for what? To undermine the very reason we all gathered here?!"
Ironforge alone could not keep the Alliance strong. Wildhammer tied up helping the elves, Lordaeron in ruins, Stormwind still finding its feet, Gnomeregan busy with troggs, Dalaran barely pulling itself together after they fled their city.
The admiral and Kul Tiras could hold the seas, Magni had no doubt about that, but they needed Gilneas and Stromgarde to contest the undead on land. To take the fight to Arthas and avenge Muradin.
"I was told, in no uncertain words, that the purpose of delaying the Gilnean's arrival at Ironforge was so that we could present a unified front." Gelbin huffed irritably. "Despite my misgivings, despite even being confronted, I accepted that humans knew best how to handle politics between humans." He sniffed loudly and turned away, unwilling to even look at Wrynn or Menethil. "I was clearly mistaken."
"A unified front was needed to prevent any attempt to exploit our weakness." Menethil spoke, a faint tremble in her voice giving away her unease. "And while we may have not had the authority to interrogate Arevin, Archmage Runeweaver has every right to do so to an apprentice of Dalaran."
"Ye cannae be believing yer own words." Falstad snapped. "Nor do ye understand what ye've done! Ye dinnae get it!"
"Get what, Wildhammer?" Wyrnn retorted with clear disdain. "That you have taken a liking to the girl and act irrationally on her behalf? The girl is the daughter of the traitor guardian and still you protect her!"
Raising a fist, Falstad seemed ready to launch himself at Wrynn and damn the consequences, but he hissed sharply through his teeth halfway through climbing onto the table between them and drew back. "Me great grandpa went tae war with the Bronzebeards. Do tha' mean me an' Magni be enemies?"
"Of course not." Gelbin chimed in. "The sins of the father falling upon the son, or in this case the daughter, is an extremely outdated concept of translational punishment. Even Stormwind must know that."
"Aye. It is." Falstad nodded grimly as he leaned forward. "So listen when I say I dinnae care who her father be."
"Nor do I." Daelin interjected, turning away from his stoic position on the sideline at last. "If it is true that her father is Medivh, then it is also true that her father died before she took her first steps. All that has changed in regards to her parentage is the presence of her... grandmother, whose reputation I do not believe you to be impugning?"
While it were true that Magni'd be a poor king if he did no' recognise the names Medivh or Aegwynn when they were spoken, that did no' mean he understood the details fully. Powerful mages, the most powerful some said – he had his doubts – but beyond that, little.
Guardian was a title that had more meaning to the elves, humans, and gnomes than the dwarves. Maybe the Dark Irons cared more, but that hardly meant much to him.
Whatever reply Wrynn might've had was interrupted by the doors sliding open once more, revealing only two Archmages walking in side by side. The venerable Antonidas and the far younger Modera, but no Runeweaver. His absence said much alone, but with the unnatural stillness of Modera's face as she stared at Menethil and Wrynn? The chill air that lapped at his ankles? The Kirin Tor had found fault in their fellows' actions and sought to resolve the dispute themselves.
"Archmage Antonidas, Modera," Wrynn greeted them with false geniality, his eyes narrowing, "I do not see Archmage Ansirem amongst your number. Has he fallen afoul of the Magna again?"
"Nothing so impressive." Antonidas shook his head with some amusement. "Following his actions within King Magni's fair city, he has been expelled from our diplomatic party. As he is no longer here himself, he has prepared two letters of apology for both King Magni and, of course, the aggrieved party in the matter." Smiling sagely at Wrynn, he dipped his head. "Do not fear, King Wrynn, Runeweaver's talents will see much use in managing the Kirin Tor's affairs in Stormwind while Archmage Elise travels north to begin reestablishing the portal network disrupted by Dalaran's destruction."
Magni grunted and took his seat, Fearbreaker resting beside him, as he mulled their actions over. "Make it clear to Runeweaver he is unwelcome in both Ironforge and Khaz Modan from this day forth." Much as he would rather have thrown the man out himself, he were mostly satisfied with how the Kirin Tor had handled things.
Shooting an irritated glare at Wrynn and Menethin, he wished that the others would only be so reasonable.
Making a show of his age, leaning on his staff profusely, Antonidas slowly moved to sit beside Gelbin, with Modera took a position behind and on his left, her hands clasped tightly behind her back.
"Now that we are all present, and I do apologise for our late arrival, might I enquire as to what has already been spoken of?" Antonidas asked politely as the others claimed their seats. Daelin alone warranted any surprise by his choice, forgoing the placement beside Wrynn to take up directly opposite Magni. "Or perhaps what might be next on the agenda?"
"Prior to your arrival, the matter of discussion was the deplorable behaviour enacted by Stormwind and Lordaeron, and yourselves by proxy." Gelbin answered quickly and with no little exasperation. "Though our chastisements have, so far, fallen upon deaf ears. What comes next most naturally would seem to be what might be done to apologise to our Gilnean friends and ensure that recent events do not cause problems with the Alliance."
"Respectfully, King Mekkatorque, Gilneas is neither a 'friend' nor an 'ally' of the Alliance." Varian said sharply. "And until such a time that the necessary concessions to earn their reentry have been made, should it even be permitted, they are certainly not part of the Alliance."
Falstad let out a low growl, hands tightening against the stone of his seat. "Respectfully," he spat, "if ye dinnae stop bein' a complete arse, I be o' half a mind tae quit this farce an' make a new Alliance with Gilneas an' the elves!"
Mind stuttering, Magni had to stop and repeat his Wildhammer kin's words over in his head. Of which he was no' the only one, Wrynn finally being taken aback and reeling in surprise, while Menethil's face turned ashen. The only one unaffected, or mebe just least affected, were Modera – who began to laugh all too unnervingly.
Her cackles were the only sound in the chamber, echoing off the walls like a mad portent of the Alliance's doom, until Daelin cleared his throat.
"I had thought that matters regarding Quel'Thalas had been finalised." He said carefully over the archmage's dwindling laughter. "Merely awaiting a formal declaration before Kael'thas and his people were welcomed back into the fold."
Tearing himself away from his staring match with Wrynn, Falstad frowned at Daelin. "Do ye even ken how many elves there be?" He barked, appearing to all the humans like little more than an angry dwarf. But Magni felt what lay beneath – the trembling rumble of a mountain ready to break in two from grief. "Do ye? 'Cause I ken it! Swiftwing alone carried three hundred elves an' as many elflings tae safety, an' nae one o' me riders disappointed me neither!"
As of the last census, there were twelve thousand elven inhabitants of Dalaran." Modera answered, voice empty and cold as she wiped moisture away from her eyes. "How many were lost in the evacuation is as of yet unknown."
"There be mebe six times that in elves we got away. Me riders still be out there, still be searchin', an' we find ones an' twos even now, but there nae be many more left tae find." Falstad broke his gaze away from Daelin to stare at his own hands, clenching and unclenching them. "An' that, this, be the better outcome! Half, Kael says, half be left instead o' one tenth."
"Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider wishes for his people to rejoin the Alliance, yes." Antonidas offered to Daelin as Falstad finished his rant. "But he holds Quel'Thalas as being in no small debt to a rather specific individual, and should it become a choice between them and the Alliance..." He let out a long sigh and shook his head tiredly. "No small part of the Kirin Tor may choose to join him, or those already present in Gilneas."
Wrynn scowled and crossed his arms, drawing into himself and began to mutter. "And so the spawn of Medivh further undermines the Alliance for her own gain."
"How dare–!" Modera shouted, her palm slamming into the table with a cold and empty inevitability billowing around her.
But she did no' have a chance to finish, as Magni was well and truly done with watching the Alliance his friends had forged begin to crumble. "Enough." He spoke calmly, the full weight of the mountain behind him as his skin greyed and calcified. "Ye are in me halls an' that is enough. There will be no more talk of the Gilnean girl, fer better or fer worse! From here on ye be speaking on matters I bring forward. Is that understood?"
He waited and watched as Modera, Falstad, and Wrynn acknowledged him, settled down, and ceased their glaring matches. He had heard from Terenas that managing the Alliance were like handling unruly children, an' he were glad that Moira, bless her soft womanly heart, were never anything like this.
"It were me intent to speak with the Gilneans before a decision were made, but matters with Senator Brightwater, and others, have made that impossible." Magni spoke authoritatively, sparing only a moment to meet Wrynn's eyes and dare him to speak. Wisely, he chose no' to. "There can be no more delay, we must decide today. What say the Alliance on Gilneas' petition to retake their place at our side? What say ye of offers made and deals brokered to amend past wrongs?"
By Terenas' tradition, Magni should turn to his right, letting Menethil speak first. But that were no' the right decision to make an' he knew it well; instead, he looked left, to Falstad, and nodded to his Wildhammer kin.
"There be little tae say." Falstad grumbled, guilt mixing with grief as the mountain of his heart trembled. "Genn did us wrong an' he be gone, others have more than made amends. The Wildhammer Clan of Aerie Peak say Aye, an' damn any who say otherwise!"
"Gnomeregan says 'Aye' as well." Gelbin continued immediately after him. "Regardless of one's personal opinion on Gilneas' past or present rulers, or indeed any of its populace, the geopolitical situation currently present on the continent of Lordaeron demands their readmittance. And until such a time as the Scourge cease to be a threat, this will remain the case."
Antonidas nodded along with Gelbin's speech. "While Gilneas has never been Dalaran's most friendly neighbour, it has always been the closest physically. Their aid, as has been negotiated with Lord Crowley, shall prove invaluable in both reclaiming and rebuilding our home. The Kirin Tor votes in favour of Gilneas' return to the Alliance."
Eyes turned next to Daelin, who frowned deeply as he mulled over his thoughts. "Kul Tiras can present no argument against Gilneas' return." He said eventually and with clear reluctance. "For the sake of those reliant upon their protection, our vote stands in favour."
"This is a mistake." Wrynn said defeatedly, his expression grim. "Not even Perenolde was more reluctant to offer his support than Greymane. It is only a matter of time before the Gilneans show their true colours once more, greedy and self-interested cowards one and all. The Kingdom of Azeroth stands against."
Magni snorted irritably at Wrynn's unsubtle attempt to skirt his order before dismissing and turning to the last vote before his own.
Looking down at her lap, her skin still pale and uneasy from the rigours of their discussion, Menethil appeared truly ill-suited and unprepared for her role. "Lordaeron..." She said slowly, taking a moment to wet her lips. "Stands in favour."
Well, weren't that a surprise. Wrynn certainly thought so, with the way his head snapped towards her.
"An' at last it comes to me." Magni rumbled, drumming his fingers on the head of Fearbreaker with the clack of stone on steel. "An' there ain't any reason to refuse, so Ironforge votes Aye. Gilneas be rejoining along with Stromgarde an' Quel'Thalas come the turn o' the month." Resting his chin in his other hand, Magni looked at Wrynn and Menethil with no little disdain. "Which means ye've got apologising to do. An' if ye ain't willing, yer to get out o' me city an' let someone else do it fer ye."
-oOoOo-
With blood pounding in his ears, heart thundering in his chest, and a guttural roar building in his throat, Grom launched himself over the ridge with Gorehowl held high and beginning a glorious song of battle as it cut through the air. "Mok-thorin ka! Lok-tar ogar!" He bellowed, answered by a hundred throats and a dozen howls as the Warsong Clan followed behind him, one and all falling upon their prey with unrelenting fury.
His target had no more chance to run than it had to react, a panicked cry silenced as Gorehowl claimed its bloody due, cleaving through a dainty wing, shoulder, and torso before erupting in a spray of sickly demonic blood and gore. The temptress slain, Grom didn't hesitate to press his advantage.
Letting his weapon guide him, he flung himself forward, hand snatching up a cowering imp and throwing it into the face of his next victim.
Green muscle crashed against dark grey skin, bare flesh into red infernal armour. "DIE DEMON!" He roared into its face, tusks bared and spittle flying as he seized its own weapon and pulled – surprise and distraction won him the contest, for though the demon warrior did not let go of its axe, its arm stretched out as Grom contested its grip.
Only for Gorehowl to fall, cutting deep into the armour and all but severing flesh from bone.
Grom laughed uproariously as the demon growled in pain, ripping the axe from its now limp hand and throwing it behind him just as he surged forward, charging the monster shoulder first. He willingly took the bloody blow of the demon's gauntleted hand carving into his back to lift it and throw it off its feet; planting a foot on the now prone prey's bare chest, Gorehowl fell, ready to separate a head from its neck.
Then, someone appeared before him, an armoured and cowled figure holding a strange serrated and circular blade to his throat, halting his death blow before it could fall.
"Where is he?!" They hissed, revealing the voice of an elven woman. Unlike the warriors of the savage Kaldorei that he had fought beside, this one cowered within steel like the humans of the Alliance.
And they were interrupting his hunt.
"This prey is mine, elf!" He growled, uncaring of the bite of steel he felt or the trickle of blood that oozed down his neck. "I welcome you to join our hunt! Claim your own kill! Slaughter the demons to cleanse this forest of their taint! But do not stand between me and my prey!"
Merely a year past and he would not have spoken at all, simply relishing a new foe with which to cross blades. But though the fury of his blood had returned, the madness, the rage, had not – the elves were not his enemies. All his anger, all his strength, all the power and fury he could muster, was to be spent on the demons, not the servants of the great genesaur he had wronged.
"I care nothing for your hunt." She sneered mockingly as, all around them, more elves appeared from the trees and set upon his clan with nets and knives. Some were caught, left flailing as they sought to free themselves, and others had their ankles cut out from beneath them. "I seek greater prey. Tell me, Orc, where is Illidan?"
Grom snarled back at her mockery, at the dishonour her cowardly warriors were inflicting upon his clan. But before he could force her away, the demon beneath him reminded them both of its survival.
Infernal iron burned as sharp claws dug into his leg, strength equal to an orc's pulling at his balance; yet, if Grom had not been standing atop the demon itself, he could have resisted. But when it rolled and pulled at once, he began to fall.
As the demon rose, the elf vanished from his sight through some trickery – only for a prickling at his neck to warn him of a danger from the side. Spinning he raised his arm and grunted, half a dozen knives making a needleback of his arm where they would have struck his spine. The source, the cowardly elf, stood ten strides distant with her cloak whirling about her revealing the glimmer of metal embedded within.
"Speak swiftly, Orc. Illidan's trail grows thinner with every moment that passes, and I shall not allow him to escape!"
"Why should I tell you anything?" He chuckled darkly as he tensed his muscles to eject the knives from his flesh. Moving carefully, he kept both his foes within line of sight; his efforts disarming the leader of this group of demons undone by her intervention. "The Storm's Rage slaughters demons almost as well as a Warsong!"
Grom would scarcely call the elf friend, but he did kill demons well and knew how to undo their corruption. And seek it out. Gorehowl had been wetted with much blood when they hunted together.
Until he departed, no longer willing to fight for the people who had left him in chains and denied him a clean death. Snorting, Grom narrowed his eyes at the elf before him, the Shadow's Song that had been Illidan's jailer. "You cost me a hunting partner." He growled.
Thinking his speech a distraction, the demon surged with unnatural speed, its limbs stretching and warping to move faster. Without a moment's hesitation, Grom turned to catch its axe with his own while lunging for its throat.
Fingers clenched around demonic sinew and squeezed, veins bulging under the pressure as their axes caught and locked – and he was forced to abandon his kill again to throw himself to the side, a flurry of metal skewering the demon in his place as several dozen knives flew through where he had been.
"Coward!" He roared at the elf, surging to his feet and towards her, weapon raised high and howling for blood. "Fight with honour!" Gorehowl blurred through where she was standing, only to strike empty air as she vanished once more.
"Those who align themselves with the betrayer deserve nothing more than a quick death." Shadowsong said icily, her circular blade biting into the neck of a Warsong grunt that was winning against their elven assailant. More than half his warband had been struck down, struggling to crawl to their weapons or entangled in nets. The remainder fought against demons and elves both, and were losing for it. Outnumbered and ambushed, just as the demons had been.
"Betrayer?" He snorted, hunching over and adjusting his grip on Goregowl carefully. "You fight alongside demons, elf."
As if to prove a point she loosed another flurry of knives from her cloak that cut through a gathering of imps that were menacing a fallen grunt, two flopping over dead as their skulls sprouted new adornments.
Taking the opportunity, Grom leapt – not at the elf but the demon, for he knew better than to fight a flighty foe with another seeking his back.
The demon's eyes tracked him skyward, axe raised to defend against the coming blow, but it was slowed by the knives hindering its muscles. He despised sharing the kill, knowing the death blow came from the aid of another, but still it came. Grom fell with crushing weight, Gorehowl screaming through the air and the heft of the demon's axe to dig deep into flesh and bone.
Releasing his grip on his axe, embedded in the demon's toppling corpse, Grom attempted to dodge out of the way of the elf's blade as she appeared beside him. He avoided the worst, bare nicks and slices of his skin and muscle compared to the crippling blow she had sought...
Yet still he felt himself begin to flag as his blood left his body. He could still fight, and were it the one elf before him, he could win, but no longer did his blood pound in his veins begging for violence.
"You know nothing of the Betrayer's crimes." Shadowsong snapped, placing herself between him and his weapon with her circular blade held ready. "I can see you will not tell me where he has gone willingly... perhaps some persuasion is in order." She shrugged her shoulder, concealing a blade beneath her cloak as a hidden threat. "Naisha, begin."
One of the elves that had caught a grunt of his clan nodded. "Yes, Mistress." Without another word, she hefted a knife and drove it into the eye of an entangled grunt, eliciting a roar of pain.
Shadowsong tilted her head, and though he could not see her face, Grom could feel the smile she wore beneath her helm. "Speak swiftly, orc." She said with some dark satisfaction. "Or your clan shall be as blind as Illidan before the day is done. My hunt for Illidan will not be denied."
"No." He growled, circling the elf and seeking an opening to reach Gorehowl and make a fight of this. He would never betray one he had fought beside to a coward who would use demons to fight their battles for them.
Never again.
A second knife was plunged into the eye of his clansman, the pained wail encouraging renewed struggles from those who remained to fight back. Few as they were. Gargok, one of the first to be trapped in a net with his wolf, managed to bite his way free – only for Shadowsong to appear before him and slice his throat open with her blade.
Roaring at the death of his clansman, Grom seized Gorehowl and hefted the axe. Perhaps they would die here today, but they would die making their foes choke on their blood! "Lok-tar–"
"He took ship!" A young orc cried as a knife came for his eye. "He took our ships! The Warchief allowed him to take one and go east!"
Shadowsong turned to him, that same damnable feeling of a smile beneath her helm. "See? It was just that easy." She laughed, laughed at the dishonour of the Warsong clan! "Naisha, we depart. Nendis is a day's ride away and we must make haste."
"At once, Mistress." Naisa withdrew her knife from the young orc's eye and stepped back. A few barked words in the elven tongue saw them disengaging, flitting back into the trees and shadows from whence they came.
The last to leave was Shadowsong, her damnable laugh lingering as the elves slipped away, vanishing one last time.
Slowly Grom let Gorehowl fall to the side, his teeth bared in a furious scowl; they had lost. Bodies lay strewn across the field, orc and demon alike, along with the three corpses of elves that his warriors had managed to claim. The demons were dead to the last, and most of his warband was merely injured or trapped rather than dead... yet it was a loss far more humiliating than others they had faced.
Walking up to the orc that had talked. Spoken of his brother's gift to the elf that had helped them hunt demons and find their place in this land, Grom felt his fury rise.
Reaching down he collected one of the knives scattered and left behind, holding the dainty, elven, thing in his fingers. It was scarce even as large as one of them, let alone a threat to a true orc of the Warsong Clan.
"Coward." He spat on the grunt below him, casually flicking the dagger towards him – towards his eye. He missed, barely, leaving a small cut across the grunt's nose before the knife bounced away. "Get out of my sight. The Warsong has no place for Ur'gora within its ranks."