The Barrens, Ghost Mist Mountain.
The breached Iron City Gate let out a piercing screech before crashing to the ground.
Thick smoke rose everywhere from the shattered Dragonmaw Clan fortress. Countless Proto-Dragon and orc corpses lay amid the ruins of the fortress and across the slopes outside.
Footsteps and angry curses approached as Dragonmaw Great Warlord Zaela was roughly dragged into an open area at the center of the fortress by two Iron Horde soldiers. They viciously kicked her behind the knee, forcing her to kneel, while two long-barreled rifles pressed against the female orc's back.
"Behave yourself, you stupid woman," a centurion told Zaela. His voice came through the iron helmet covering his entire face, sounding somewhat muffled. As he spoke, sparks scattered from the helmet's mouthpiece, which resembled a miniature iron-grated furnace.
Zaela merely shot her fellow orc a disdainful glance. She had always looked down on the Iron Horde.
These orcs, who had fully embraced firearms, had long forgotten the traditions of Glorious Warriors. They had cast aside swords, axes, and shields, believing that guns and bombs could bring them greater strength and greater glory. They had utterly forgotten their roots.
Just look at those ugly helmets. Their mouthpieces were shaped like iron-grated furnaces, and their shoulder armor resembled two smoldering furnaces as well. Red-hot steel gears occasionally emerged, spinning at high speed before blasting out twin jets of flame, while the propulsion devices on their backs periodically released bursts of white steam.
They didn't look like proper orcs at all!
"Don't worry, you stupid woman. You won't die just yet. There'll be a place for you, an accomplice and co-conspirator, at Garrosh's trial."
Grom Hellscream strode over from the nearby ruins, dragging a half-dead Dragonmaw orc in one hand. He flung him beside Zaela, then lifted