Smallest_Cloud

Over fifty years ago, Urug had answered the call of the Urukim to join the Horde in the great Midlands Wagh. Overnight Urug became a veteran soldier, fiercely loyal to the Horde and it's ideals. Once the war had ended, he returned to his self-imposed exile, for the lie-speakers were too numerous for the Horde and its lone ally to defeat. And so, he made his way to the desert cliffs, where his home awaited. Now, for a second time, Urug answered Grommash’s summons to return to the Horde. But this time, things were different. There was war looming once again, but unlike the past, there would be no pink skins to tether them to a distant conflict, no deceitful politics to bow to. This time, the Horde rose not for the whims of others, but for its own purpose—one that all Uruks could unite behind, a purpose enflamed by the death of it's Architect, Grommash. A watered field of blood stood before Urug, he'd had slain the enemies of this day and threw them from their feet into their broken lifeless state, a grim testament to his hatred and the hatred that surrounds all Uruks in the aftermath of the death of Grommash. The enemies who had grown comfortable in their insolence and dishonour had dared to stand against them. They had cast them down, their bodies broken and lifeless, left in the wake of their wrath. Yet Urug and the other Uruks felt unsatisfied, the cold hatred lingered around them. The Hyspians would taste defeat and death a hundred times over before they might grasp a tenth of the loss the Uruks felt over the death of Grommash, his dream of the sacred homeland of our people cleansed from their pestilence will come to pass. Grommash tried to make peace, and was killed for it. There is no quarter for any Hyspians, men, women and children, they will either leave the Desert back to their masters in Haense or meet their end decorating our walls.

" Lawz of da Horde are fair " Urug would mutter while sharpening his tusks.

" Urukim always outnumbered but will never back down to da honorless, nub matter how many they bring! " Urug would cheer around the large bonfire after the surprising underdog victory.

" Lik' always da pink skins will back up otha pink skins and ignore Uruk position, nub matter how justified Uruk are. " Urug would mutter to himself after reading the missive.

Urug Garothmuk would perch forward on the after hearing a few Uruks who support the pardoning debating, slowly rising to speak with anger. " An Uruk who doez no' care fo' Krugmar, Da Sacred Desert and their fell'ow Uruks are not worthy of been' pardoned, for dey abandon everything that many warriors klomp n' spillz dey grish for, itz a spit on their honour and sacrifice. " Urug would begin speaking louder, almost yelling. Urug would now step forward for all to hear. " A Whitewash filth dat can lay with da pink skinned demons that plot, conspire, dance the tongue dance and even fight against fellow Uruk-kin, who support those who would tread and settle upon the Desert, who would given the chance would wipe out da Uruk bruddahs. Nub, dis betrayer of our people don't deserve to be 'Whitewash', dey deserve to be marked for death and hunted down like da vermin dey are. " Urug would slam a nearby table with his fist, shattering it into 2 pieces, he'd then storm off to the gate.

Atop a small sand hill overlooking Orcgrimmar a Orc would stare into the town below, it would be a large beacon of firelight in the dark cold wastes of the desert, the loud voices from inside would ring out across the valley. The mountain Orc who had only joined the Iron Horde a seemingly short time ago had been aged, now a veteran of several battles, all defeats. " Troo, Akaal da spyeak word-truth. " Urug spoke to himself, his hand clenching and unclenching the sand to his side. " Many bruddahs klomp 'n spillz dey grish for da wagh, wuld be a insultz to dem though. " He quietly said to himself. Urug reminds himself that they are fighting those who defile the great Desert, and no insult that large can result in them turning tail because of the death of his fellow warriors. " Da wagh is fo' Uruk blarg, we cannot give in to da pink skin tongue-dancers fo' dey are cursed by da spiritz to spillz dey grish to Urukz. " Urug would begin speaking sternly, wrestling with his thoughts.

Ug bruddahz.

Throm'ka Brudda