Graanshakuun charged at the demon. The wrathwalker lifted both of its hatchets and brought them down together at the charging orc. Graan lifted his shield about his head, blocking both of the hatchets, then quickly thrusting his own sword deep into the stomach of the demon and killing it by freeing his sword through its side. He felt the weight of the hatchets lift as they both fell on either side of him and the demon fell on its back, dead.
Graan examined the corpse with more of a custom rather than interest. Already the sounds of battle behind him seemed far off, distant, as if in another land and time. The demon's blood left his sword after a quick movement with his wrist. Not that it made much difference, his armour was already covered with the demons' blood. He looked down at the corpse with no pity and little pleasure... no, his eyes burned with hatred but also with something not quite definable.
He tore his gaze away from the corpse, a lot of work needed to be done and he knew it. He looked up at the Legion Hold and could just make out the pit lord Morgroron. He tightened his grip on his sword as he looked at the silhouette of the pit lord, it was going to end on that day, and Graan knew it. He looked back and saw his men engaged with other demons below the Legion Hold and around Shadowmoon Village.
Graan grinned at the scene, turned away and charged at another demon. One, two or five, it made no difference, Graan cut them down. He knew that this was the easy part. As he hacked at the demons, his mind was elsewhere. A hard blow into his shield brought him back from his thoughts and into reality. A terrormaster stood in front of him. Graan grinned with pleasure from the challenge of the fight, but on the inside he wanted to be in Azeroth, drinking mead with the Blades and not doing this... and hell if he knew why he had to do what he was doing.
The terrormaster stuck again, wielding its sword with both hands for more strength, it swung fast and hard with the left, cutting through the air in a perfectly horizontal cut. Graan blocked the blow with his shield but the impact was enough to make him give this fight his full attention. He acted quickly, not wanting to waste more time, knowing that lives were at stake. He shifted his shield into a 45 degree angle with the horizon and pushing his shield up above his head. This cause the terrormaster's sword, which was still pushed against the shield, to slide over the shield, destroying the demon's guard. Graan quickly slashed at the demon, cutting it in half right below it's ribs.
He was running again. A wrathwalker stood in his path towards the Hold, it lifted its hatchets up but before it could bring them down, Graan cut one of its legs off, destroying its balance, then he spun around and cut deep, half-way through the ribs of the demon, killing it on the spot. He stopped after killing the demon. He caught his breath and faced the lower part of the Hold. Target number one was here. He realised that he began to shake. Was it excitement? Was it fear? Hard to say since he knew that the kind of opponent that he was about to face was hard to kill with just guns and swords against their might and magic. He shook his head and charged at the closest demons.
He rested the edge of his blade against the corpse of the freshly killed wrathwalker and sat down on what could have passed for its twin, both in appearance and in death. He drank from his water skin, listening to the distant sounds of battle that raged on. He looked down on the ground and a fresh memory came to his mind. He knew the promise he made and remembered what his brother once told him, “a broken promise is as good as lie”. He sighed and picked his sword up.
Graan cursed loudly as the ground around him exploded and his shield nearly hitting his face after absorbing an impact. He forgot about the Fel cannons. He heard it charge up again and quickly dashed behind a rock. He closed his eyes, ignoring the second impact against the rock, took out a dynamite, lit it and threw it over the rock. Three seconds later an explosion was heard and the cannon gave no more sound. Graan counted to three and rushed out from behind the rock, only to freeze with his mouth open, his body trembling and hatred burning fiercely in his eyes.
“Pitiful orc, “said the pit lord in front of Graan, “ you thought that you could stop the Legion by coming here alone? Alone and armed with metal weapons and a few flashy bombs?” Laughter spread from the pit lord.
“Makazradon”, Graan said, the one word filled with hatred and very little fear.
The pit lord's laughter stopped in a matter of seconds. He looked down on Graan with amusement in his eyes. Graan could feel cold sweat spread under his armour but he paid it little attention. This was the moment.
Graan took a deep breath in, and shouted at the top of his lungs a war cry. Then, without hesitation, he charged at the pit lord. The pit lord laughed at the charging orc and swung his massive glaive. Graan stopped in his charge and braced for impact. The world became silent and blurry for a second after the glaive hit Graan's shield and then he was back to his senses. He knew that he didn't hold his ground, if one were to look through the eyes of the pit lord then one would see track of something being dragged three yards and then stopping in Graan's place.
Graan pushed on and resumed his charge for he was close to the pit lord but deep inside, he knew it was worthless. A bolt of fel magic struck him into his chest while in mid-air, denting his armour and burning his tabard off. He landed heavily and he had to roll to reduce the impact. He didn't even get up to his feet when the pit lord struck again. Graan just managed to bring his shield in front of him before the glaive made contact with him. This time, he flew backwards a few yards, his shield knocked off from his hand, leaving him with just his sword. He was lying on his stomach and used his free hand to support his weight while he stood up.
Graan turned around and saw the pit lord standing nearby, waiting for him to strike again. He was breathing hard now as he faced the pit lord. Deep within him, something stirred. He looked the pit lord in the eyes, grabbed his sword with both hands and charged again. The pit lord swung at him Graan dodged the glaive and jumped at the pit lord, slashing while mid-air. Contact was made and for the first time his blade tasted pit lord blood. He landed a few feet away from the pit lord and landed a bit heavily, this proved to be fatal.
A heavy blow came from behind. Graan was knocked off his feet and landed very heavily with his face almost kissing the fel-twisted ground. He heard something snap and felt a bit lighter. He got on his knees and realised that his shoulder armour was destroyed and it fell off. He grinned. If he could avoid a blow like that, he could finally do a lot of damage. So, once again, he charged. He dodged the incoming glaive but forgot about the pit lord's magic. He ran straight into a bolt of fel and felt his entire upper-body armour destroyed and blood flowing down his chest and stomach.
He fell to his knees. The world was a blur. He looked at his own hand and saw colours, not a proper shape. He heard laughter, he heard the pit lord say that the fight is over. He felt distant. The pit lord swung at Graan, intent on finishing him off but what happened next shocked him. Graan, without regaining his focus, block the blow with his sword.
Graan felt it. The curse, the blessing. He bared his teeth in defiance. He struggled because he didn't want it this way. This shouldn't be how he must do it. Grommash did it with just an axe, why must Graan rely on this accursed power? His mind became clear for a moment and then fell into confusion and madness. Rage overwhelmed his mind. He looked up into the pit lord's eyes, his own eyes turning green. From within him it came, first faintly and then more intense, a green aura. He knew that he was doomed, no matter what happened. In the matter of seconds his body was surrounded by a thin green aura. He struggled even more and then, with one heavy punch into the ground, the aura dispersed. Why shouldn't it? It was within him. The true power of the Blackrock. It resided in him since birth and now he finally lost control over it. His eyes burned fiercely with fel.
If Graan will have grandchildren, he would look back at this and say, “And that's the day when the monster was born”. He wouldn't be correct though. Maybe a monster was born and maybe not, but it was night, midnight to be precise. The moment that the fel receded into him and gave him strength, the clock showed that it was midnight.
The pit lord drew back his glaive and struck again but this time with magic as well, desperate to end this fight, knowing well what happened to the orc. Graan jumped up and easily dodged the blow and sent his own uncontrolled bolt of fel at the pit lord, wounding it before it finished casting its spell. The pit lord was off-balance and Graan acted with cold precision. He landed lightly on the ground and sprang forward at the pit lord, more precisely at his head. With one clean strike, he beheaded the pit lord and quickly moved away. The pit lord imploded with its own energy, with a small explosion following.
Graan didn't stop running. He charged straight away at the Hold. Demons stood in his way but he cut them down like wheat. In his mind, he fought his own battle. He didn't want to give in to this. Madness raged through him and he struggled for control while his body acted on its own accord. He tried but he couldn't win... not yet.
Graan walked calmly past the ranks of infernals and headed straight towards Morgroron, the remaining pit lord. No other demon crossed his path as we walked. His eyes burned more brightly than ever but in his mind, he might have just gained some more ground.
He stopped and faced the pit lord. None of them spoke for both knew that there was no need to speak. Words weren't going to change anything. Graan held his sword in one hand. Then he charged without a sound. Laughter spread from the pit lord and Graan's sword met the pit lord's massive sword. Graan lunged himself into the air and struck from above but the pit lord parried easily. Then the pit lord struck at the mid-air Graan. Graan parried each blow but the impacts were enough to keep him up in the air. As if by some unspoken rule, they used no magic.
They traded blow for blow, each being parried by the other one's weapon. Eventually Morgroron ceased his attacks and let Graan to land. But Morgroron was cunning, the moment Graan landed, Morgroron struck again, his sword cutting horizontally. Graan just managed to parry the blow, the impact making him wince but he pushed on. Once again, their swords met and locked in a contest of strength. Morgroron pushed harder and pushed Graan through the air and at a wall. Graan landed on the wall on his feet, squatting on it horizontally for a moment before jumping back at Morgroron. Morgroron parried Graan's incoming sword and then Graan pushed himself away and into the air and started to spin quickly. This gave his next blow great force and when their swords met, Graan forced Morgroron's sword down but he himself was dazed from the attack that he just executed. When they both got back to their senses, they resumed their battle.
Meanwhile, a different kind of battle raged on within Graan. It was a battle of pure willpower. He was nearly lost in the battle, forgetting everything else that occurred, even the fact that he was fighting a pit lord at the time. He could vaguely remember an orc, someone he thought of as a friend, he could remember a troll that never remembered and also another troll... he only knew that he promised this troll something but what he promised was beyond him. Then the madness came again and Graan could spare no time to remember.
Another blow and another. The sounds of metal meeting metal were echoed through out the Legion Hold. Distant roars of a pit lord and of something that sounded as an orc were also heard. But the entire Hold has little importance compared to the battle raging and let us return to it.
Graan was starting to breathe heavily. His sword locked with Morgroron's sword filled up most of his vision. The world because blurry and then returned to normal. He felt unnatural power in him and knew it for what it was straight away. The memory came to him and he won. He had little time for amazement for he knew that he can't stop now. He gained control in his mind but it won't do him any good if he dies at the hands of Morgroron.
“Promise”, he muttered.
He looked up at Morgroron and grinned, he can't die, not now and not here. His eyes became normal but the power remained, fully unleashed by under control for now. He dashed to the right letting his sword slide against Morgroron's. He then jumped and bounced off a rock, towards Morgroron. His mind was empty and he saw clearly.
He slashed out vertically at Morgroron. Morgroron parried the blow but what came next was something that he didn't expect. Instead of putting all of his weight on his sword, Graan vaulted when their blade met and all of the sudden, Graan was between Morgroron and his sword. Morgroron was defenceless. In fear and rage he quickly sent a bolt of fel at Graan but Graan deflected it with his open palm which glowed brightly green when it met the bolt of fel. Then Graan finished it all with one straight cut through Morgroron's heart.
When the pit lord lay dead, Graan look down at its discarded sword. He threw his own away and knelt down next to it. He reached down for the handle of the sword and hesitated. Now the memories came flooding back. The hatred of Fel that orcs posses. His conversations with Polkros and his standing as an officer of the Warsong Blades. But most of all he remembered the promise he made to a certain troll.
“I have a choice”, he muttered,”this might not be the right path for me to take.”
He shook his head and grunted. Without another hesitation, he grabbed the sword and all hell broke loose. He could feel demonic, twisted power seep into him. He felt himself get stronger but he felt his “orcishness” lessen. Then he felt the worst sensation of all. The Morgroron's essence entered his mind. He could feel Morgroron's raw power but he knew that he could handle it. Then his eyes began to sting, to hurt and then agony of burning came. Fel appeared around his eyes and then entered them. His eyes burned and burned until all that was left was two black sockets.
He rubbed his temples, covering his sockets with his open palm. Darkness was all that remained. His hatred was gone and he felt a bit more at peace. Then he heard sounds of something moving. A lot of something moving. He felt a new but familiar scent in the air and quickly felt his way towards Morgroron's sword and lifted it up into a battle stance.
That's when the demons came.
Subject: Graanshakuun in the Legion Hold 
