When a person is about to die, whether he is a great ruler or a humble commoner, he will always take some time to recall his life, whether it is impassioned or as plain as water, but it is the life he has experienced.
It is a life that cannot be abandoned.
That is a clear proof of a person and a life surviving in the world.
At the dawn of Mount Hyjal, against the backdrop of the dark night, Grom Hellscream stood in front of his son with a battle axe. He carefully looked at Garrosh's face.
On his face covered with black ash and blood stains, Grom seemed to see himself when he was younger.
The one who led his tribesmen to hunt and run freely on the Nagrand grasslands, the young man who yearned for glory and war, the young man who longed to prove himself, the one who was ultimately lost in the war, and ultimately lost everything, even his own life.
The tyrant and thug of self.
The first half of my life was really full of sins.
"My son..."
Grom spoke and said:
"When I was young, I did a lot of wrong things. At that time, I pursued strength and power crazily, and despised all weakness. Your mother, during a certain hunting, she was seriously injured, and she begged me for help.
But I laughed at her, I laughed at her for being a weak person. When she was dying, I helped her understand the pain with my own hands. I thought that was a kind of relief."
"But no, my son."
This past incident has been hidden in Grom's heart. Until today, at this parting moment, he told Garrosh. The young orc lowered his head. He didn't know how to respond to his father, but
Garrosh could sense that this was probably the last conversation he would have with his father.
"When you were first brought to Azeroth by old Nazgrin, this is the reason why I alienated you and why I despised you..."
Grom smiled:
"I don't dare to face you, son. When I see those eyes of yours again, I will always think of that poor woman who I gave up. I once thought that I would not be bound by emotions, but in fact, that is who I am.
The thing I regret most in my life...I gave up on my family."
"Stop talking..."
Garrosh clenched his fists and said softly:
"Stop talking, father, we still have a lot of time in the future..."
"No, son, there is no time."
Grom interrupted Garrosh's self-comfort. He reached out and patted his son on the shoulder. At this moment, Grom did not look like the powerful chief, but like a real father, a kind father.
, a man who let go of everything in the past said to his son:
"I know that you had a very difficult time with Aunt Gaiaan when you were a child. Because of the evil things I did, I took the lead in drinking the blood of demons, allowing the evil power to sweep through the entire orc tribe, which was the source of this disaster.
It’s not just Maronos, but also me... I know that the other children hate you for this, and therefore exclude you, because your father is a butcher, a villain, and a person who brings disaster and war."
"I am indeed such a person, but I'm sorry, son, I let you carry those heavy things for me."
"No, father!"
Garrosh raised his head, and for the first time there were tears in the eyes of this brave and reckless young man. This was probably the first time Garrosh shed tears. Even when he was on the verge of death in the battle in Northrend, he
Not a single tear was shed.
But at this moment, Garrosh no longer concealed his inner emotions. He firmly grasped Grom's cold and cold wrist and said in the same plea:
"No, you are the best father in the world. You strictly demanded me and pushed me to embark on the path of a true warrior. Father, you are a real hero. You ended all this. No one can slander this! I have
Confirmed, you are my hero, I want to be like you, father... I need your guidance in my life."
"Don't leave me! Don't give up on me!"
"Wow"
The heavy battle ax Gorehowl was caught in Grom's hand. He held the battle ax in both hands, the inheritance of the Warsong clan, the chief's hand. He handed it to Garrosh and Grom, who had tears on his face.
A trace of pride flashed in his eyes:
"Don't try to be me, Garrosh."
"To be a better man than I am... a Warsong Chieftain worth following."
"My son, Garrosh Hellscream, today, in the name of Chief Warsong, I declare... that you will take over the power and mission in my hands, and you will become the next Chief Warsong!"
Grom looked at his son and said softly:
"Take it, Garrosh."
"I will watch you in hell, my son. The story of Hell Roar in the old era will end here, and the legendary life of Hell Roar in the new era will also begin here. Use your future legendary story
,Glorify me..."
————————————————
While Hellscream's family inheritance was going on, on the other side of the battlefield, Kilrogg. Deadeye sat on the already cold head of Maronos. His only remaining eye looked at the darkness floating in the sky.
In the deepest darkness before dawn, the blood-ringed orc who had seen the vision of his own death was silently waiting for the end of his life.
Behind him, Yolin Dead Eye stayed quietly beside his father.
As a member of the Blood Ring Clan, Yolin has known since he was a child that death is something that can never be avoided in a person's life. Everyone will welcome the arrival of death. Therefore, Yolin has long thought about the fact that his father will always die.
He was mentally prepared, and like other members of the Blood Ring Clan, he did not think this was a miserable farewell.
Singing death and praising death are the traditions of the Bloodring Clan.
"Yolin..."
Compared to Hellscream and his son, the communication between Dead Eye and his son was much easier. Kilrogg played with the hunting stick reshaped by the black fire of death in his hand. He turned to look at his son:
"I'm going to die, you little brat, don't you have anything to say to me?"
"If you really need a blessing, then I would say, I wish you a safe journey."
Yolin shrugged, and the young orc said to his father:
"You have told me since I was a child that death is inevitable. Every Bleeding Ring orc should learn to smile in the face of death, right?"
"Yes, that's right, that's what I taught you."
Kilrogg shrugged. The old orc seemed to have a very open mind. He moved his fingers, closed his eyes, and leaned on the head of Maronos behind him. He seemed to be recalling the past and said softly:
"When I was young, Yolin, in the Blood Ring Caves of Hellfire Peninsula, I performed the death-eye ritual just like my ancestors, dedicated one of my eyes, and saw a vision of my death... But
You know what? That illusion was wrong, or it should have happened, but it didn't happen..."
"I should have died in the apocalypse of the great collapse of the world of Draenor, dying quietly and with no bones left, but I didn't... I waited for that death to come, but it didn't... it
It seems to have forgotten me and allowed me to survive until now. Finally, it found me and reminded me in this form, hey, bastard, it’s time for you to come back.”
The old chief said in a relaxed tone:
"You know? Compared to other people, my life has been very complete. At least when I die, I will no longer be alone, and I will have you, a little brat, with me."
As he spoke, Kilrogg turned to look at his son, a complicated light flashing in his single eye:
"But my son, you have to remember...death is no longer death. It has been given a deeper definition. Don't be hostile to it, especially in this world."
"Father!"
In the end, Yolin was not as calm as he appeared. Under his robe, he clenched his two fists tightly and said in a trembling tone:
"When I was performing the Dead Eye Ceremony...I saw something special. In that vision, I saw you and I standing together in a huge and gorgeous thing like a palace of gods. We and many others
People sat together and drank wine...I saw many people, Thrall, Garrosh, even the human King Varian, the Draenei..."
"What does that vision...that vision of death represent?"
"Um..."
Kilrogg looked at his son with a playful look and said softly:
"That is a blessing, the blessing of death... You just need to know that it is a future, you don't need to resist it, it will come naturally..."
After saying that, a flickering black flame burned rapidly on Kilrogg's hunting stick, reshaping the sturdy weapon. Under the gaze of Dead Eye, a skeleton staff made of animal bones appeared in front of him.
hand, he threw it to his son:
"The Bleeding Circle is yours, little boy."
"Now, get out! Don't bother me anymore, let me experience the tranquility when death comes."
————————————————
"It suits you well, Sal."
Warchief Orgrim looked at Thrall who was leaning on the stone in front of him with a critical look. Death Sage Drek'Thar was using a special method to mobilize the power of the elements to heal Thrall's seriously injured body.
After embracing death, Drek'Thar's use of the elements became more "rough". He no longer called out and begged for the power of the elements. Instead, he controlled it, like... the tyrant of the elements.
"But it's yours, Warchief."
Thrall handed the black warhammer to Orgrim with difficulty. He looked at the warchief with his blue eyes:
"The Doomhammer is your family heirloom, and it is the symbol of the chief of the orc tribe. I am not qualified to hold it."
Orgrim stared at the warhammer handed over by Thrall and shrugged:
"Then who do you think I should give it to? Garrosh? That irritable little bastard may not need 5 years to bury the tribe we worked hard to build in the war, Dranosh? What is hidden in that child's heart?
There are some things, Sal, you know better than me. He has a knot in his heart, and he can't really reassure me until this knot is opened."
"Yolin is a blood-ringed orc. Blood-ringed orcs have a worship and desire for death in their bones. He is also not suitable to be the leader of the tribe... Rexxar is too withdrawn and Brox is too old. I can still rely on him.
Who?"
The warchief patted Thrall on the shoulder:
"It's just you, Sal."
"but..."
"No, I know what you want to say, and I also know what you want to say."
Orgrim interrupted Thrall's rebuttal. He stretched out his hand and pressed it on the cold surface of the Doomhammer. Then he placed the hammer in Thrall's arms. He said:
"You will say that your soul does not look like a real orc... but what does it matter? Thrall... no one cares what your soul is, they will only see your appearance.
Seeing your steady acting style, seeing your wise thinking, seeing your excellent overall view, you have passed the test. My son, all the chiefs are very satisfied with you, not to mention... we old men still owe your father
A love."
"If Durotan had not died, he would have been the best and most outstanding chief of the new tribe. But unfortunately, my brother died early in the war. But fortunately, he left a bloodline inheritance of his own."
Orgrim looked into Thrall's eyes:
"You have to be clear, Thrall, don't regard the power of the warchief as a gift or a good thing."
"What I give you is a difficult responsibility and a heavy mission. The orcs and humans have signed a peace agreement, which is good, but the rift between the orcs and the elves has appeared, and you need to spend a lot of energy and time.
To make up for it... Of course, you can also resort to war, which is also a way to solve it. After the demon war, the elven civilization in its weak period may be defeated by the joint attack of humans and orcs."
"But is that really what we want to see happen?"
The great chief shook his head, looked back at the dancing light in the distant sky, and said softly:
"Thal... take the tribe and move forward, but you must always be wary of this world. The outer veil of this world is being pulled away bit by bit, and a real, more cruel world will appear in front of you.
..."
"I know you will make the right choice, you always do..."
Behind Thrall, Elder Drek'Thar's palm patted his shoulder. The always wise old orc whispered:
"The bells of the old era have already sounded, Thrall, after humans, the old guys in the orc civilization are also leaving, then the night elves, and then the draenei...a man who hangs high above the world
The will wants to see a new world that is stronger and more united. This is not a desire, but a requirement, a compulsion, a pressure..."
In the shining light of dawn, Orgrim's black armor began to float freely like burned ashes. The same was true for the other chiefs. They were leaving. They had fulfilled their final mission, and they had used their
Sacrifice buys the last time for the new generation.
"Don't let him down, Sal."
Orgrim took a step back. In the halo of dawn, he opened his arms as if to embrace the sunshine. In this dawn, the civilization of the orcs slowly turned a new page. In the ashes
Dissipated in the light, the deep voice sounded like a farewell in the ears of all young people:
