Garrosh was dead. Thrall had completed the task assigned to him by the War Crimes Tribunal.
Those who received the news could not quite put their feelings into words.
Relief? Should they celebrate?
Or should they sigh for Garrosh, the former Great Chief whom they could not bring themselves to hate?
But none of that mattered anymore. The dead were gone, and the living still had to move forward.
Thrall brought Garrosh's body back to the World of Azeroth, back to Orgrimmar.
He would be given an ordinary grave outside the city as his final resting place, surrounded by all the Orcs who had died in battle since the founding of the New Horde.
Although Garrosh had not been a qualified Great Chief, he had still been a qualified Orc warrior. No one could deny that.
And a qualified Orc warrior ought to rest alongside his own kind.
Grandmother Gaia'an slowly crouched down and stroked Garrosh's tombstone, remaining silent for a long time.
Perhaps... Garrosh should never have come to Azeroth. His destination and his stage should have been Outland, on the Nagrand grasslands.
The Horde had shaped Garrosh's fate, and Garrosh had also shaped the Horde of today.
There was no right or wrong, only whether it should have been done.
The True Horde was already on the verge of collapse. Apart from the Warsong Clan, which was still resisting, Grom Hellscream would rather die than surrender.
After learning that Garrosh was dead, Grom hated the version of himself from the other world even more.
He believed Garrosh had done nothing wrong. It was bad enough that his counterpart, Garrosh's father, was working for those long-eared elves, but now he had actually stood by and watched Thrall kill his own son.
Poor Garrosh. What a fine lad, what