Treason

Vol'jin's rebels have not attacked yet. With that thought in mind, Nazgrim woke before dawn as usual. He quickly rose, splashed cold water on his face, then donned his plate armor and slung his weapons across his back. The cracks and dents in his armor had always been a source of pride, but today, when he noticed damage to his breastplate, he frowned. The battle for Orgrimmar would begin soon. He had to remain in peak condition, and so did his armor. There could be no room for error.

I need to visit the forge—Nazgrim left his hut—and inspect the city while I'm at it. He was now commander of the Kor'kron Legion, Grommash's right-hand man, second only to the Warchief. Duty guided his steps.

Not a single civilian could be seen in Orgrimmar. The Kor'kron guarded every street and patrolled them rigorously. Peons' working hours had been tripled. Shops with no use for the war had been cleared out and turned into supply depots.

And the Dark Shamans... Nazgrim clicked his tongue irritably as he spotted two figures. Though they saluted upon seeing him, he merely gave them the barest nod.

Haromm and Kadris, the two strongest Dark Shamans under Warchief Garrosh. They forced the elements into obedience, twisting them into corrupted forms.

The traditions of the ancestors have all been forgotten. The thought crossed the Orc's mind, and he forced himself not to dwell on it. If he started thinking about it, there were plenty of other things the Warchief did that displeased him. Such as...

A roar brought Nazgrim to a halt. From its tone alone, he could not tell whether it was rage or pain, but he knew it was a sound unique to Pandaren. Other than Orcs and Goblins, no other races could be found