Son of Kogan: The Arrival

[Broshgar]

-Part 1: At the beginning-

It was all a red haze, the ground was spilled with Draenei and Orc blood. Both fluids intertwine.
Another Draenei fell and two Orcs followed with. The battle was a slaughter, indeed, but yet one had to continue fighting to survive.

Broshgar, along with his comrades in arms, fought to protect what is left of their people. In the midst of battle, the Orcs shared a quick glance, and they knew who stood up fighting alongside and who fell. Wave after wave, the comraderie became fewer and fewer. One of the latest victims of this battle was one of the closest and dearest to Broshgar. He didn't have any time to grieve, but all that could fuel him was the rage.

There was now a moment of pause and they took the opportunity to make a tactical withdraw. A sudden overwhelming pain overcame him and he fell forward, a piercing arrow hit him in the leg that went deep. With a growl in his voice he told his group to carry on. One stayed and tried to drag Broshgar with him.

"Leave me!", Broshgar shouted, "I am but dead-weight now!"
"Don't be a fool, Broshgar, we need to fall back!"

It was no use to argue.

Not far until they reached the checkpoint and Broshgar could see the massive bulwark of the Draenei army heading towards them. He could feel the vibration in the ground from the running hooves and the tall machinations they brought with. Finally he was put down and there was a hustle, Orcs ran out of their hovels and tents to assume formation to meet the tide.

There was shouting before Broshgar succumbed to the overwhelming tiredness from the blood loss.

Broshgar awoke with a fever from his unattended wounds and it was all a blur. What he could make out of his surroundings, he was laying inside a hut and outside there was an arid landscape, faint shouts of the Orcish language and some shapes moving back and forth outside.

With a weak effort he raised his head and saw that his wounds across his body was attended. Apparently it must've been tended by the Shamans. Feeling the overwhelming tiredness once more he laid his head back and gazed up at the tent's ceiling, still hearing the shouts every now and then. From what he could gather by listening to various voices outside, they were outside a place called Orgrimmar. He has never heard of such a place.

Someone entered the tent and Broshgar turned his gaze slowly towards the one who entered. By the way this shaman looked, it was a bit different outfit to what he's accustomed to. This one is more dressed in light metals compared to the original leather worn by the Shamans and.. green skin?

Broshgar struggled to raise himself but the shaman prevented him by a hand to his chest. "Don't bother standing, warrior, lay still and rest while we tend to your wounds."

Like he really had any choice.

"W-..Where..?"
"You are outside the gates of Orgrimmar, the home of the Orcs. You and your people recently arrived on Azeroth."

This surprised Broshgar and he couldn't help himself but chuckle with some effort.

"It's-.. it's just a tale.."
"No. You are here."

There was a sincere voice coming from the shaman and Broshgar simply stared at her. The green skin, the metals she wore…
The shaman began to unwrap the bandages found upon his body and nodded at each inspection, removing the bandages.

"The spirits has been kind to you, warrior, your wounds has been healed."
"W-Why do I feel so-.."
"Tired? It's not surprising, you've been sleeping for three days."

Broshgar stared at her in shock, trying to gather his wits and bearings.
"Three days..."

[Broshgar]

-Part 2: Remember-

The night came like a welcoming breeze through the tall grass. Although for some it was a harsh climate but to Broshgar it reminded him of home. Some months had passed since he came to this strange place. Durotar.

Outside the Orcish city of Orgrimmar, not far from it, he took the liberty to build himself a small hut for himself. All he ever needed was a bed, a table and two chairs, a rug on the floor and a fireplace to cook his meals and/or to keep himself warm on colder nights. But this night… It was a pleasent temperature.

He laid down on the arid earth and gazed upon the stars above, allowing himself a mere distraction of thought and remembrance. At times he could almost swear that he heard his own thoughts of how the memories went on and on.

"Father... "

--------------

"Father!"

"…Mmm..."

"I want to hear a story!"

"Well.. you woke me up from my sleep, so.. might aswell.."

"Tell me of Grommash Hellscream and how he fought against the demons!"

"That tale again, Broshgar..? I've told you that so many times.."

"I know, but I love that story!"

"Alright, alright, now.. let us lit a candle and I tell you how our great Warchief came to be.."

--------------

Broshgar couldn't help himself but to chuckle at the memory, oh how he loved his father telling him that tale. At the same time, he couldn't help but to miss him and all the fun they had as father and son. They were best friends.

The memory played on until another memory came to. The smile faded and he locked his gaze upon a bright star in the sky.

--------------

Fire. Blood. Sounds of swords and axes clashing against one another and screams of pain, anger combined.
Broshgar was but a teenager at the time and he had learned how to fight early in his years. The Draenei had begun to break the peace because of their new-found fanaticism.

"Broshgar!"
"Father!"
"Keep fighting, son, we have to find your mother!"

--------------

Broshgar rose from the earth and he didn't wish to remember about what happened. He went inside his hut and stood in front of the fireplace, gazing in to the fire while he roasted the pork he butchered from a pig earlier today. The memory wanted to come forth, but Broshgar shook his head. No. It remains in the past and should stay there in the past.

With a rusty knife he carved the pork and put it on a small plate which he held in his free hand. With a somewhat heavy thump he sat down in his chair and began to dine. He could hear the sound of a howling wolf in the distance, filling in the silence.

The howl reminded him when he met his first mate, Sahna. In some desperation to forget the memories he continued to dine, trying to focus on that instead of the memory.

"… Still afraid of me, Warsong, afraid of the big bad wolf coming to get you..?"

Broshgar closed his eyes for a moment and responded to the memory. "No, I ain't...", he whispered.

--------------

The good memories of Sahna played on, she had ebon-black long hair that was made in to a ponytail that sometimes hanged loosely in front of her arms when she turned to respective left-or-right. She had curves but in a more athletical manner and her eyes were light-brown, much like his own. Then he remembered how she met her fate. It was a quick death, an arrow straight for the heart and it ended her existence. Broshgar remembered the shock and the overwhelming anger he felt as he brought his axe down upon another Draenei after the other.

--------------

Broshgar opened his eyes and stared through the tiny window, still hearing the howl of the wolf not far.

"Oh Sahna, I wish you were here with me, not in only spirit but in the flesh too."

He couldn't grieve appropriately and he didn't want to. To him it would be a disgrace of him to shed tears for Sahna, he chose not to, instead he turned it to something else. Anger. He used it as fuel or like a drive to make him pushing ahead when he was in a fight. If his father taught him anything, both pain and pleasent memories could be a trigger. Letting the anger out in battle was the best course of action. However, that was not the only thing he was taught. Honor. To his family, his clan and those you fight along side with.

Honor. Tradition. Family.

Such was the way of his parents, his grandparents and his ancestors. Such would be his way, aswell.

[Broshgar]

-Part 3: The Proving of Worth-

Another restless night passed and it began to be a thing to be accustomed to, the heat, the sweat and no chilly winds. It became too much and he rose from the bed, sitting up and rubbing off the sweat from his forehead. He gazed out through the window, it was nearly morning.

Broshgar rose from the bed and walked to the table, grabbing the pitcher filled with water and poured it over him. The water was a bit cool from last night and he thanked the Spirits for it. He stood there for a moment and felt the water run down along his hair, his beard, his back and chest.

As he went outside his hovel, he looked around and stretched his back. The tiredness was still there but there were days that he could feel it more than the other day. Today it was manageable.

He began the day by looking to the pelts and skins he hung up at the string, counting up those that were finished for selling and some that needed some more time to dry. The ones that were finished, he laid them atop of another and then tied them with a tiny rope.

Another set and he could venture to Razor Hill once more. A smirk formed on his lips, he counted up to three coin purses since those last times he did some trading. Yet.. he couldn't help but feel a bit of regret spending some coins at the Innkeep on Razor Hill.

It occured to him that he's spending coins more often and staying there far longer. It did him good to speak with his fellow kin, after so many days and weeks of self-isolation. The Red Blade Clan. It raised an overwhelming inquisitive sensation within him, an eagerness to know more about them. Two of them, fellow Orcs, were kind enough to provide him the information of the current events and some.. history lessons.

They told him of their version in regard of Grommash Hellscream and his son, Garrosh. It confused him, these strange turn of events. His timeline exists thanks to one Orc. It occured to him now, did his alternate self live in this time?

Broshgar shook his head, it was foolish to believe that there are two of the same people in the same timeline. It brought him some headache thinking about it.

The Red Blade Clan, why did it peaked his interest so much? He thought about it for a moment and then he had his answer. At his first meeting with them, he felt himself belonging with them.

Now he had to put his thoughts elsewhere and prepare the bow and refill the quiver with arrows, it was time to gather more pelts. Maybe.. just maybe.. with the Spirits' blessing, he could gather for the Clan aswell.

It filled him with determination more than usual and he found himself setting off with an eagerness of proving his worth.