Garrosh Hellscream was dead. He died on the Nagrand Plains of the parallel world of Draenor, and Thrall had carried out the execution assigned to him by the war crimes tribunal.
War crimes, the crime of splitting the Horde, the crime of disrupting normal politics, the crime of persecuting the Horde's non-orc member races, the crime of betraying the World of Azeroth, the crime of disrupting the timeline, and so on...
With so many crimes and so many charges, who could still remember them all? And who wanted to?
Those who received the confirmed news could not quite put their feelings into words, especially the Horde's various member races.
Was it satisfaction? Was it cause for celebration? Should they say he deserved to die?
Or should they sigh, let the past scatter with the wind, and say, "How did it come to this?" for Garrosh, the former Warchief they could never truly hate?
But none of that mattered anymore. The dead were gone, while the living still had to move forward.
Garrosh's body was personally brought back to the World of Azeroth by Thrall, back to the Horde capital of Orgrimmar, back to the land Garrosh had once fought for with his blood and life.
He was given an ordinary little grave outside the city as his eternal resting place. Around him rested all the Orc warriors who had died bravely since the founding of the New Horde. Though the place was unremarkable, it was a graveyard of honored warriors, as plain and unadorned as those buried there had been in life, men who had upheld all they believed in with their fists and battle-axes.
For the Horde. Victory or death.
Though Garrosh Hellscream had not been a qualified Horde Warchief, and though he had committed all manner of radical