Orgrim Doomhammer

"These guys are too lax. Ever since we took Stormwind, they've gotten a little complacent."

Teron Gorefiend suddenly spoke.

Malone kept quiet. He knew Teron Gorefiend had more to say.

"We've been here for a while now. I wonder what the Warchief is waiting for. Maybe he's waiting for more weapons and food to be brought up from the south."

Teron Gorefiend muttered.

"The south?"

Malone asked.

"Yeah. Some Orcs are still down south, searching through the ruins for more useful things. We still have a lot of cities to attack, and we can't do that without enough 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's at the foot of the mountain."

Teron Gorefiend pointed toward the sprawling camp ahead, now not far away.

The novel said he lived atop Blackrock Mountain—Malone thought—but there wasn't much difference either way.

The closer they got to Orgrim Doomhammer's camp, the more powerfully built the Orcs became.

Malone knew Orgrim had chosen the strongest Orcs for his personal guard. The other chieftains were bound to resent it, but it would also keep their opposition at the level of words.

Malone even spotted a few Ogres.

Though the Ogres were all wearing armor, their bodies were so huge—and the armor had probably been looted from Stormwind—that they looked like grown men crammed into children's clothes. It was ridiculous.

But Malone didn't laugh. He was confident he was much stronger than most Orcs, but looking at the Ogres' arms, thicker than his waist, he didn't feel so sure of himself.

Malone was almost certain he'd reached the camp of Orgrim Doomhammer and his Blackrock Clan, because rows upon rows of tents were now appearing before him.

Actual tents—Malone didn't know if they'd been taken from the humans, but the Orcs at the edge of the camp hadn't been given any, and the Death Knights' camp was just a bare patch of open ground.

It seemed tents were a rare luxury in the Orc camp, and Orgrim Doomhammer had given most of them to his own clan.

Just as Malone and the others were nearing the biggest tent in the camp, an Orc came toward them.

He looked as savage as his kin, with his brown beard and hair in a tangled mess.

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

Malone had no idea where the bone fragments had come from—he could only hope they were from beasts.

"Rend Blackhand."

Tabek stopped and called out the Orc's name.

So this guy was Rend Blackhand? Malone stared at the savage in surprise. He was also one of the bosses in a World of Warcraft dungeon.

Rend Blackhand, son of The Destroyer Blackhand, the first Warchief of the Orcish Horde. After his father was killed by Orgrim Doomhammer, he and his younger brother Maim Blackhand broke away from the Blackrock Clan and led the Blackrock Orcs loyal to them and their father in founding a new clan: the Black Tooth Grin Clan.

But Malone found it strange that Rend hadn't sought revenge on Orgrim Doomhammer. And in the history of Azeroth, he seemed to obey Orgrim without question.

In the end, Orgrim sent Rend and Maim to hunt down the turncoat Gul'dan, and the two of them went like a pair of fools.

Was Orgrim Doomhammer really so powerful that Rend didn't dare avenge his father's death? If he weren't worried about causing trouble, Malone would have loved to "interview" Rend.

"Tabek, you're too damn slow. It takes you this long just to catch two Death Knights? Why would Orgrim make a useless wretch like you his adjutant? And somehow I'm ranked the same as you."

Rend Blackhand's voice was wild and rough.

"You can try it yourself, and then you'll see this guy was already moving pretty fast."

Before Tabek could reply, Teron Gorefiend lifted the mask from his face and shouted.

Seeing this, Malone pulled the cloth away from his own head. It had been bothering him, but after a moment's thought, he tucked it into his belt rather than throwing it away.

"Teron Gorefiend?"

Rend Blackhand seemed surprised to see him.

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

Rend Blackhand eyed Teron Gorefiend warily.

"Unfortunately, I'm one of them."

Teron Gorefiend replied.

"No wonder Tabek was so slow..." Malone heard Rend Blackhand mutter under his breath.

"Then who's this guy?"

Rend Blackhand pointed at Malone.

"He's the other one. Why do you ask so many questions? Is the Warchief in the tent?"

Teron Gorefiend asked impatiently.

"He is. Zul'jin and Kilrogg are there too. Orgrim thought Tabek was taking too long, so he sent me to hurry things along."

Rend Blackhand said.

"Let's go in."

Teron Gorefiend ignored Rend and spoke to Malone instead.

"Okay."

Malone nodded and followed Teron Gorefiend.

"You lot wait outside."

Tabek ordered the Orc soldiers, then followed Teron Gorefiend and Malone into the biggest tent, with Rend Blackhand behind them.

It was daytime, and a bonfire burned inside the tent, so despite the lack of ventilation windows, it was fairly bright.

As soon as Malone entered, he felt countless eyes fall on him. Then...

"A human!"

A roar rang out.

"How did a human get into our camp? Kill him!"

More Orcs cried out and roared, and the tent descended into chaos.

"Silence!"

A booming voice drowned out the others, and the tent quickly fell quiet.

Malone looked ahead. An Orc sat on a broad black throne.

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

The whole place had a strong grassland feel—especially the Orcs, with their broad patches of green skin.

"A human? Teron Gorefiend, what's going on?"

The Orc asked.

Malone guessed this was Orgrim Doomhammer. A warhammer was strapped to his back, its haft rising just above his shoulder and its head resting near his thigh.

Doomhammer was both the Orc's name and the name of his weapon.