Mannoroth was dead. Not permanently, that much Rognak knew from his other set of memories. Demons couldn't be killed permanently, at least not in this world without some very specific circumstances. If they died on Azeroth, they were sent kicking and screaming back to the Twisting Nether. Still, the more powerful they were, the harder it could be for them to pull themselves back together again.

The Pit Lord was always destined to die here on Kalimdor in this time period. But Rognak's actions had not only significantly moved up the time table for Mannoroth's death while also safeguarding Cenarius' life, they'd also resulted in a lot less corruption as a result of the Pit Lord's demise. All thanks to the blessing that Cenarius had given Hellscream's axe.

… His axe now. Looking down at the weapon, holding it in his hands, Rognak felt it to his very core. This axe was his axe. It was like it was bound to his very soul. In fact, it might not even be appropriate to call it Gorehowl any longer, though what he was going to call this new weapon instead still eluded him.

Whatever Cenarius had done to it, it had become a conduit for nature energy. Which was a little surprising, because on the one hand, druids and large bladed weapons didn't mix. You could have something large, or you could have something bladed as a druid. Not one or the other. You could have a staff, or you could wield a dagger. It was a trade-off, to be sure.

And yet… at the same time, the two-handed war-axe like he was holding in his hands right now was the epitome of orc culture. Almost all of his warriors wielded axes, as a matter of fact. So in the end, if an orc druid WAS going to buck the trend, then it made sense that he would do so with an axe like this one. And indeed, if the Lord of the Forest was going to enchant a weapon for their fight against Mannoroth, then Rognak supposed it would be an axe… given what he recalled of the Axe of Cenarius, created ten-thousand years ago but not due to show up in this world for another few years.

Ugh, time travel. Best for him not to think about it too hard. He had more than enough on his plate at this point. Neither the Bronze nor the Infinite had come after him yet. Not in the twenty years he'd spent in Lordaeron, and not on this day, after he'd so dramatically changed the events that might have taken place here.

If the Bronze were going to show up, he figures they would have now. Though maybe that was just him telling himself that to feel better about the situation. Ultimately, he wasn't going to let their policies stop him. He was going to do what was best for his people, no matter what.

Luckily, that seemed to be working pretty well so far. Mannoroth's pool had been destroyed without a single member of the Warsong Clan drinking from the corrupted demonic blood. Not for lack of trying, but the clan had come together and stopped those who could not stop themselves until he was done.

Then… Mannoroth himself had been destroyed in a battle that should have seen all of their deaths. Only the timely arrival of the Night Elf Sentinels and Cenarius himself had seen the day saved. Only the Lord of the Forest's blessing had allowed him to deliver not just the finishing blow to Mannoroth, but also erase the Pit Lord's disgusting remains from their world before they could do any harm to the forest of Ashenvale.

Letting out a low sigh, Rognak turns his thoughts towards the Night Elf Sentinels who had fought with them. By this point in time, the enmity between their two peoples should have already started. By now, Cenarius should have been dead and the Sentinels in full retreat from demonically infused Fel Orcs. But that hadn't happened. And now… now he didn't know what the future would hold.

Needless to say, he'd been more than a little nervous about the Warsong Clan comingling with the Sentinels this early. Were they ready for such a thing? In the wake of their shared victory, it made sense to celebrate a hard-fought battle. Only a handful of orcs had died, but they'd quickly seen to their funeral rites, burning them each on pyres. Among them was Grommash Hellscream, his remains brought with them from the site of the Mak'gora where he fell.

As the former Chieftain, Grom had earned the center spot on the pyre. It was the least Rognak could do, all things considered. He'd stolen the other orc's story, ended his tale before he could even err in the first place, let alone be redeemed by Thrall. Saying a few words about the honor and valor of their dead was the bare minimum expected of Rognak before all was said and done.

Then, the revelry had begun in earnest. Fresh fires were lit with wood provided by Cenarius, and meat was also procured by a hunt performed by the Sentinels. The orcs provided the booze, having brought no small amount of it in favor of water that could more easily get dirty and undrinkable on a journey like this.

If Cenarius himself had not ordered that they make camp together for the night, then Rognak might have ordered the clan to retreat out of the forest and not allowed them to set up camp until they were once more beyond the forest's edge. He was worried they would all get into trouble, if he let them stay here in the woods, among the Night Elves and their sacred trees.

In hindsight, that would have been a mistake. It had taken them hours of traversing Ashenvale to locate the pool in the first place, followed by the fight with Mannoroth. While his orcs weren't afraid of a little cardio, he still wouldn't have won any friends by demanding they all march right back the way they came, as if they hadn't earned the right to sleep under the canopies of the massive alien trees all around them. As if they hadn't just defended these lands from a Pit Lord.

Yes, Rognak's first instinct had been incorrect, and he was grateful now that Cenarius had unknowingly stopped him from following it. That said… he wasn't blind. Even though his Orc Warriors and the Night Elf Sentinels could barely understand each other, they were still getting along like a house on fire in short order anyways.

Some were drinking together, while some were already engaging in shows of strength, agility, and cunning. They were making up little games to play against one another, while some of the Warsong Clan had set up a wrestling pit, just to show off their fighting prowess to the female creatures in their midst.

There was still some separation, but also plenty of visible interest between the two groups. Unfortunately, despite the way Rognak saw Night Elven eyes roaming over the muscles of some of his warriors, there were far fewer of them when compared to the Warsong Clan. Someone was going to end up slighted, and then shit might go south, fast.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

In the end, sitting there watching everything happening… he really only saw one option to take. Okay, make that two options. Sure, he COULD have sat here all night waiting for shit to hit the fan and then stepping in himself. But he was only one mortal being, and he was damn tired after the day he'd had. Fighting Grommash Hellscream was one thing. Destroying that pool and then Mannoroth back to back? That was something else entirely. Rognak had never felt more drained in his life.

On the other hand, the option he HAD chosen to take involved Cenarius. The Lord of the Forest was a Demigod, and thus immortal. He also spent a ton of time in the Emerald Dream, so he probably didn't need as much sleep as a mortal did, right? Seeing as it was Cenarius' decision to have them all camp together in the first place… Rognak didn't see anything wrong with meeting the Lord of the Forest's eyes from across the camp and then rising to his feet.

He thinks he might even see a glimmer of amusement in the Lord of the Forest's gaze, even as he breaks eye contact and looks around the camp.

"WARSONG CLAN!"

The attention of everyone in the camp snaps to him, first the orcs and then the night elves following when they realize how quiet it gets. Standing there, Rognak basks in their focus for a moment, knowing that Mannoroth's defeat had gone a long way to furthering his claim over this clan. He had their respect and hopefully their obedience, and in time… perhaps he would even manage to convert them to druidism as he so desperately wanted.

For now though, he'd be glad if they could just get through the night without causing a diplomatic incident. With that said…

"We have defeated a great evil this day! With the help of Lord Cenarius and our new allies, we slew the great demon Mannoroth!"

At hearing their triumphs recounted to them, the warriors of the Warsong Clan do what any orc would do… they lift their arms over their heads and roar in victory. Rognak lets them have their moment, grinning savagely all the while. Only once they quiet down does he drop the grin and pin a few of the ones he considers the most likely to be problems with a glare.

"It's late and I'm fucking tired. So I'm going to sleep. The Forest God is in charge. If you trespass, if you break the peace of these woods in any way… then I allow him to pass judgment on you in my stead. Whatever he decides is just punishment for your crimes, I shall back with all of my authority."

There's a pause at that, as more than a few orcs shoot contemplative glances towards Cenarius. They've never fought the Demigod, so they don't know how strong he really is… but he certainly LOOKS powerful and dangerous. Making eye contact with the Lord of the Forest again, Rognak definitely sees the amusement in Cenarius' eyes this time, as well as the slight nod that he's given.

Grinning again, this time in relief, the orc druid raises a hand over his head and then brings it down.

"That's all! Don't fuck around, and you won't have to find out! Now get back to celebrating!"

Short, sweet, and to the point. That's the way orcs like it, and Rognak can tell he wins a few more fans with his amusing euphemism. He turns his back on chuckling orcs and makes his way to a personal tent. As the Chieftain of the Warsong Clan, he's entitled to one of the only personal tents in the entire camp. It was one Grom's tent… but now it belonged to him.

Perhaps he would have felt weirder about sleeping on the furs of a dead orc, but he was done with today. He was tired, and he was ready to sleep. Unfortunately… it was not to be. Just as he's laying his head down on the furs, just as he's closing his eyes… the tent flap opens once again, forcing him to sit up.

He half-expects it to be some impatient idiot trying to catch him off guard in an assassination attempt. He'd hoped that Mannoroth's defeat would stave off any underhanded, honorless curs for a little while, but he wouldn't have been surprised if it didn't.

However… it's not one of his orcs. It's one of the Night Elves. And though she pauses for a moment as his eyes fall upon her, she doesn't hesitate for long. Smiling softly, she steps into the tent, standing before him with a curious look on her face and a tilt to her head.

… Somehow sensing he's not going to be getting sleep any time soon, Rognak surreptitiously lowers one hand to the ground, while pressing the other to his chest. As her gaze follows the latter, he uses the former to draw a bit of nature energy from the earth beneath him, pulling some of the life from the root system that rests just beneath Ashenvale's forest floor. Not enough to harm any of the plants around here, but just enough to help him get through this conversation.

Meanwhile, the hand on his chest presses in as he grunts at the Night Elf.

"Rognak."

He wishes he had an easier way of communicating with her, but since they don't speak the same language, this is what he'll have to do for now. Judging by the way her eyes shine with amusement, her soft smile growing a little wider, she understands him at least. Carefully, the Night Elf reaches up in turn and does the same thing with a hand on her own chest. Smiling toothily now, she chuckles, a melodic sound that catches quite nicely on his ears.

"Shandris. A pleasure to meet you properly, Rognak."

Recognizing the name, Rognak can only go wide-eyed. Shandris seems to take that as shock over her ability to communicate fluently with him, which is also a surprise but not nearly as much of one as coming face to face with THE Shandris Feathermoon quite so soon.

"I see you are surprised. I asked Lord Cenarius if he could help me and my sisters in our bid to… communicate with your people, in order to facilitate closer relations between you orcs and us night elves. Luckily, he was more than happy to accommodate us. I noticed that you were keeping yourself apart from the revelries, so I suppose you didn't hear my fellow Sentinels engaging your warriors in conversation."

… No. No he had not. He'd been watching them, but he'd been so lost in his own thoughts and caught up in his own head that he hadn't actually been LISTENING. Truly, he was a thick-skulled idiot, wasn't he? That said… he was still reeling from the realization that this was Shandris Feathermoon. Not a General yet, obviously… but even still, she was Tyrande Whisperwind's second in command and adoptive daughter. Definitely not small potatoes.

Standing up and squaring his shoulders, Rognak grunts as he bows his head in acknowledgment of her words.

"Well met then, Shandris. Your assistance was greatly appreciated in the battle today. Without your help, I do not think my clan would have survived Mannoroth."

Shandris hums, finally moving forward. Rognak tenses, not entirely sure why she's approaching or what exactly it is she wants from him. Eventually, she stops directly in front of him, her head tilting back so she can look him in the eye.

"I don't know about that. Perhaps Lord Cenarius' assistance helped to carry the day, but it feels as though my sisters and I did very little comparatively. I must admit… watching you and your warriors do battle was quite exhilarating. You are a savage people, aren't you?"

He… honestly wasn't sure whether that was an insult or a compliment. Perhaps both, perhaps it was a backhanded compliment. Frowning a little bit, Rognak shakes his head.

"What can I do for you, Shandris?"

Rather than respond with words, Shandris makes her intentions clear through actions instead. By placing a hand on his chest, right where his much larger hand had been mere moments before. Running her light, comparatively dainty fingers along his bared chest, the Sentinel smiles at him questioningly, the corner of her mouth quirked up in a silent offer as she tilts her head to the side again.

The look in her eyes makes it abundantly clear what he can do for her.