RP: Harvest Festival

This is an idea I had back during the Harvest Festival, but never got around to writing up. The idea of honouring one of the greatest orcs in Warcraft lore with candles always struck me as a bit underwhelming, so I felt that it was worth giving him a more appropriate remembrance. It should be noted that Rul actually does have Gorehowl in his bank just because it has so much lore significance.

Warning, the content is slightly graphic, so if gore bothers you, it might be worth skipping this post.

* * *

The crisp, autumn air was marred by the acrid stench of sulfur. Demon stink. Rul tried his best to ignore the horrible smell as he approached the center of Demon Fall Canyon. It had been seven years since the defeat of the pitlord Mannoroth and still the land was scorched by the demon's final death throes. In the middle of the crater a pillar of rock had been erected, as if to taunt the few demons that continued to plague the area. It served as a memorial to Grommash Hellscream, the warrior who ended the Burning Legion’s command of the orcs, and the former leader of the Warsong clan. A number of small gifts and offerings had been placed around the monument. Candles. Hmph.

Rul dismounted from the back of his riding worg and gave it a quick pat behind the ears. “That’s a good girl, Grima. Now you stay here while I go find an offering more befitting of the Chieftain.” Grima let out a reassuring growl as she sank back on her haunches, warily eyeing the shadows for any sign of demonic activity.

Rul shrugged off his backpack and grinned. Hunting time.

* * *

Rul grunted as he heaved the still-breathing carcass of the white buck to the ground beneath the monument. It was alive, barely, but at least it had stopped struggling so much after he had broken its legs. Wiping his brow, he stepped over to where his belongings lay beside Grima and carefully withdrew an axe wrapped in canvas. As he removed the cloth, the dim twilight gleamed off the weapon’s edge.

Gorehowl hungered.

Sensing its fate, the buck attempted to struggle to its feet to no avail. Drinking in the beast’s terror, Rul raised the axe above his head. He could feel the weapon's rage, its desire to kill. With bloodlust coursing through his veins, he let out an earth-shattering roar as the blade fell.

Gorehowl fed.

Lok’tar ogar, Chieftain. The Warsong is supreme!