Iron Star

A few minutes later, Nazgrim arrived at the forge.

Master Blacksmith Sar'gath Steel-Fist heard someone enter his room. When he turned around, he found Nazgrim watching him with a grim expression.

"It's gone cold." The general's eyes rested on the cold iron inkwell. Orgrimmar's forge had never been this cold before.

"It's only just time to start work," Sar'gath said. He noticed the damage to Nazgrim's breastplate and immediately knew why he had come.

"Add refined iron. The best kind," Nazgrim said.

Nearly every Orc made such a request. Sar'gath would not question anyone else about it, but when it came to Nazgrim, curiosity easily took hold of him.

"How much refined iron would it take for you to guarantee you can hold the city gates?"

Nazgrim blinked. He only made guarantees to the Warchief, yet Sar'gath's question still caught him off guard. Especially since the master blacksmith's tone did not sound like he was asking how confident Nazgrim was in defending the city. It sounded more like he wanted to know what it would take for Nazgrim to fail. Nazgrim did not answer. He did not want the damage to his breastplate merely to look repaired. Sar'gath might very well mix something else into the refined iron.

Even if I am destined to die in battle, I must never die because of logistics.

The master blacksmith seemed to understand as well. Without waiting for Nazgrim's answer, he picked up his hammer and began his work.

While he waited, Nazgrim did not remain idle. He stood to one side, considering the battle ahead. His thoughts were like the sparks that flew from armor beneath a hammer's blows.

"They will not set one foot inside this city." That was what he had told Garrosh.

Loyalty to the Horde had driven Nazgrim