Orgrim: The Doomhammer

"These guys are too lax. After conquering Stormwind, they've become somewhat sluggish."

Teron Gorefiend spoke up suddenly.

Malone didn't chime in; he knew Teron Gorefiend had more to say.

"We've been staying here for a bit too long. I don't know what the Warchief is waiting for. Perhaps he's waiting for more weapons and grain to be shipped up from the south."

Teron Gorefiend muttered.

"The south?"

Malone asked.

"Yes, there are still some Orcs remaining in the south, scavenging more useful things from those ruins. We have many more cities to attack next; we can't do it without sufficient equipment."

Teron Gorefiend said.

So that was it... these were details Malone hadn't known.

"Orgrim... is he on that mountain?"

Malone looked up at the towering peak.

"You mean the Warchief? No, he is at the foot of the mountain."

Teron Gorefiend pointed toward the vast expanse of tents not far ahead.

The novel said he lived on the summit of Blackrock Mountain, Malone thought to himself, but it doesn't make much of a difference.

The closer they got to the camp of Orgrim Doomhammer, the more robust the Orcs became.

Malone knew this was because Orgrim had handpicked the strongest Orcs for his personal guard. Such a move would surely draw complaints from other chieftains, but it would keep their opposition confined to mere words.

Malone even saw a few Ogres.

Although these Ogres were wearing armor, their bodies were far too massive. Since the armor had likely been looted from Stormwind, the Ogres looked like adults stuffed into children's clothing—it was quite comical.

However, Malone didn't laugh. Although he was confident his strength surpassed that of most Orcs, seeing the arms of the Ogres, which were thicker than his own waist, left him feeling rather uneasy.

Malone could almost conclude that he had reached the camp of Orgrim Doomhammer and his Blackrock Clan, as vast stretches of tents began to appear before him.

They were indeed tents—Malone didn't know if they had been looted from the humans, but the Orcs on the outskirts of the camp didn't enjoy such luxuries, and the Death Knights' camp was entirely bare, completely exposed to the elements.

It seemed tents were a rare commodity in the Orc camp, and Orgrim Doomhammer had distributed the majority of them to his own clan.

Just as Malone and the others approached the largest tent in the camp, an Orc walked toward them from the opposite direction.

This Orc looked just as savage as his kin. His brown beard and hair were a tangled mess.

His hair, nose, ears, forehead, armor, and even the weapon at his waist were decorated with a multitude of bones.

Malone didn't know where these bone fragments came from—he only hoped they were the bones of beasts.

"Rend Blackhand."

Tabek stopped in his tracks and called out the Orc's name.

This guy was Rend Blackhand? Malone looked at the savage brute in surprise—this guy was also a boss in a Warcraft dungeon.

Rend Blackhand, son of the Horde's first Warchief, The Destroyer Blackhand. After his father was killed by Orgrim Doomhammer, he and his brother Maim Blackhand had broken away from the Blackrock Clan, taking the Blackrock Orcs loyal to them and their father to form a new clan—the Black Tooth Grin Clan.

However, Malone found it strange that this guy hadn't sought revenge against Orgrim Doomhammer; in the history of the Azeroth world, he seemed to obey Orgrim's every command.

In the end, Orgrim sent Rend and Maim to hunt down the traitor Gul'dan, and the two of them had foolishly gone along with it.

Was Orgrim Doomhammer truly so powerful that Rend didn't even dare to avenge his father's death? If he weren't afraid of inviting trouble, Malone would have really liked to "interview" Rend.

"Tabek, you're damn slow. It took you this long just to grab two Death Knights. How could Orgrim use a piece of trash like you as an adjutant? And to think I hold the same rank as you."

Rend Blackhand's voice was wild and gruff.

"You can try it yourself, and then you'll know that this guy's speed was already quite fast."

Before Tabek could speak, Teron Gorefiend pulled back his hood and said loudly.

Seeing this, Malone also pulled down the cloth covering his head; the thing had been making him very uncomfortable. However, after a moment's thought, Malone tucked the cloth into his belt instead of throwing it away.

"Teron Gorefiend?"

Rend Blackhand seemed surprised by Teron Gorefiend's appearance.

"I heard two Death Knights were causing trouble. But why are you here?"

Rend Blackhand asked, eyeing Teron Gorefiend warily.

"Unfortunately, I am one of them."

Teron Gorefiend replied.

"No wonder that guy Tabek was so slow..."

Malone heard Rend Blackhand mutter under his breath.

"Then who is this guy?"

Rend Blackhand asked, pointing at Malone.

"He is the other one. Why do you have so much nonsense to spout? Is the Warchief inside the tent?"

Teron Gorefiend spoke with impatience.

"They are here. Along with Zul'jin and Kilrogg. Orgrim felt that Tabek was moving too slowly, so he sent me to urge him along."

Rend Blackhand replied.

"Let us go inside."

Teron Gorefiend ignored Rend and spoke instead to Malone.

"Understood."

Malone nodded and followed behind Teron Gorefiend.

"Wait outside."

Tabek commanded the Orc soldiers, then followed behind Teron Gorefiend and Malone into the largest tent along with Rend Blackhand.

Since it was daytime and a bonfire was burning inside, the tent was reasonably bright despite the lack of ventilation windows.

The moment Malone stepped into the tent, he felt countless gazes converge upon his face, and then...

"A human!"

A roar erupted.

"How is a human in our camp? Kill him!"

More Orcs cried out in alarm and rage, and the tent instantly descended into chaos.

"Shut your mouths!"

A booming voice drowned out the other noises, and the tent quickly fell silent.

Malone looked ahead and saw an Orc sitting upon a wide, black throne.

The throne was covered in the fur of some unknown beast, reminding Malone of the seats used by the khans of the steppe tribes in the historical dramas from his home on Earth.

It was a heavy steppe aesthetic—especially with the Orcs' skin, vast swathes of green everywhere.

"A human? Teron Gorefiend, what is the meaning of this?"

The Orc asked.

Malone guessed that this fellow was Orgrim Doomhammer, for strapped to his back was a warhammer, its handle rising slightly above his shoulder while the head rested near his thigh.

Doomhammer—it was both the name of this Orc and the name of his weapon.