The Scent of War

Malkorok strode urgently into Grommash Hold. He knew the Great Chief was waiting for him, along with good news from Northrend—but he was about to disappoint Grommash. No! The Blackrock Orc shook his head. It was not he who should disappoint him, but those who had carried out the mission.

There were no other idle personnel within the hold. The Great Chief placed great importance on secrecy.

"Great Chief." Malkorok struck his fist against his chest and dropped to one knee. Such a solemn salute made Garrosh frown. The Blackrock Orc's expression and actions seemed to imply one thing: the plan had failed.

"How did it go?" Grommash asked.

"Wiped out!" Malkorok could almost feel the fury rising within the Mag'han Orc before the chief's throne. Before that rage could erupt, he hurried on. "It was originally a success, but we were attacked on the way back. Everyone died, and the item was lost."

Garrosh crossed the distance in a few strides and grabbed Malkorok by the arm. The force of his grip made his adjutant's teeth grind in pain. "Who did it?"

"We don't know. We can't even confirm their race. Their deception was masterful. The corpses of the strike team were covered in all kinds of arrows, and there were banners at the scene, seemingly left there on purpose. And..."

"And what?" Grommash did his best to lower his voice. To do so, he could only vent even more of his anger through his strength, and Malkorok suffered for it.

"And the item left no trace at all. We... failed!"

Garrosh kicked Malkorok away. The Blackrock Orc crashed to the ground and struggled to look up at the half-mad Great Chief.

"You promised me this would succeed, Malkorok. You have disappointed me!"

"I am willing to accept any