Three Leaders

The clash of blades rang out with the clangor of war machines. The two combatants sprang apart, circling one another. The Orc wielding two battle-axes had only three fingers on one hand. He feinted, raised his weapons with a sweep of his arm, and charged fiercely. His opponent appeared even more powerfully built and more agile, his brown skin gleaming beneath the sun. He deftly blocked the strike. Sparks flew where their weapons met, and the axe blades glittered in the sunlight.

"Good," Malkorok murmured in praise. So far, the Great Chief did not seem discouraged by what had happened with the Divine Bell.

While considering this, the Blackrock Orc nearly failed to raise his weapon in time to block Garrosh's sudden attack.

The Orc bared his teeth in a grin. He pressed his weapon down with all his strength, only to feel his opponent resisting with equal force.

Let me see what you're truly capable of. That was Garrosh's command to Malkorok. Though this was not a Mak'gora, a duel between Orcs took no account of rank or status. Garrosh might be the Great Chief, but Malkorok would not deliberately hold back.

The Great Chief's right-hand man showed his cunning side. He suddenly pulled back his weapon, and Garrosh instantly lost his balance and pitched forward.

Seizing the chance, Malkorok swung his battle-axe after him with a speed Grommash had not anticipated. Twisting his wrist, he intended to strike the Great Chief's back with the flat of the axe. Garrosh roared and barely managed to parry. His father's weapon, Gorehowl, blocked the blow, and the impact knocked Malkorok's weapon from his grasp and into a pile of hay.

"Great Chief, there have been rumors that the Divine Bell incident threw you into disarray. It seems those rumors are groundless."