In the end, the Alliance caught up with the Horde just before they reached Blackrock Spire.
Alaric's earlier planning had paid off, after a long, grueling march under relentless pursuit by the Alliance, the orcs were utterly exhausted.
When Orgrim finally realized that no matter how desperately they pushed forward, they would never escape intact, he decisively ordered the army to camp in the Burning Steppes for a brief rest.
But this also meant they would have to fight a decisive battle against the Alliance right there in the Burning Steppes.
"The humans are here!"
The scout's shout reached Orgrim's ears. He was furious to hear the fear in his subordinate's voice when mentioning the Alliance.
When had his bloodthirsty and battle-hardened warriors become so weak?
"I know they're here," he roared in reply, straightening up and turning to face the orcs behind him.
They stood atop a roughly built platform on a mountainside directly in front of Blackrock Fortress, high on the rocky plain, where the fortress could just barely be seen in the distance.
From this vantage point, he could see the remaining orcs gathered below.
The last time he stood here, his warriors had covered every inch of the plain, not a stone visible beneath them.
But now, large patches of black rock showed through the scattered green. He could even see members of different clans huddled in small groups.
When had the Horde's numbers become so thin?
What had he led them to do over all this time?
Why hadn't he heeded his old friend Durotan's words earlier?
Every warning Durotan gave had come true.
"What do we do now?" one of his subordinates, Tabek, stepped forward and asked. "We don't have enough numbers to fight them back, and no reinforcements are coming."
Doomhammer glared furiously at his lieutenant, and the other orcs instinctively backed away in fear.
Yes, their numbers had dwindled. They were no longer the vast, unstoppable force they once were.
But in the name of the ancestors, they were still orcs!
"What do we do?" he hissed at his officer, yanking his warhammer, Doomhammer, from his back. "We fight!"
Turning away from the trembling Tabek, Orgrim strode powerfully up to the top of the platform.
"Hear me, my people!" he bellowed, raising his warhammer high.
Some of the orcs looked up at him, while others remained motionless, which only further ignited his fury.
He slammed his weapon against the rocky cliff beneath him. The sharp clang echoed across the plain, forcing all eyes toward him. The crowd quieted, their attention fixed on what he would say next.
"Listen to me!" he roared again. "I know, we have suffered great defeat and loss recently! Our numbers have dwindled!
And I know that Gul'dan's betrayal came at a terrible price! But we are still orcs! We are still the Horde! Every step we take still shakes this world!"
A round of cheers rose from the warriors below, but the sound was thin, weak.
"The humans, elves, and dwarves, they've followed us here," he continued, spitting after each name, as if the words themselves disgusted him, and they truly did.
"They think they've defeated us!
They think we came here because we're afraid of them, like beaten dogs with tails between our legs! But I say, they are wrong!"
Again, he raised Doomhammer high.
"We came here not out of fear, and not to flee, but because here lies our fortress, our source of strength.
We came here to prepare, to let our blood and glory once more sweep across this continent.
We came here because we will defeat them again, until they tremble at the sound of our name!"
This time, the cheers were louder. Orgrim let the sound swell.
The warriors straightened up and began to raise their weapons. He could see their spirit rekindling. Good.
"We will not wait for them to strike first!" he shouted to his people. "We will not cower here in fear and give them time to plan.
Never! We are orcs! We are the Horde!
We will carry the flames of war to them, and they will regret ever chasing us here!
When we crush them, we will march over their corpses and resume our conquest, making this land ours once more!"
He raised the hammer high with both hands, swinging it above his head. This time, the roaring cheer shook the very ground beneath him.
Orgrim was exhilarated. A smile broke across his face.
This, this was his people.
They would never fall to their knees, weeping and begging for mercy.
If they must fall, it would be on the battlefield, with weapons soaked in the blood of their enemies.
And so, with a single fiery speech, the Warchief of the Horde reignited the army's morale, even if it came at the cost of deception and concealment.
In his speech, he had cleverly transformed their retreat into a strategic relocation, spun their failure to reach Blackrock Fortress into a deliberate move to face the enemy head-on.
And in the end, these rash and simple-minded orcs believed him. They believed the Horde still possessed its mighty strength, enough to face the Alliance in a direct clash.
Orgrim, however, had no regrets.
He knew, deep in his heart, that he and his warriors had nowhere left to run.
But even if defeat and death were inevitable, he wanted those sacrifices to carry meaning.
Perhaps a brutal, glorious battle could serve as the Horde's final proof of honor.
Perhaps their struggle would buy other parts of the Horde more time and chances.
The great orc chieftain firmly believed that even if he and the Horde's main force perished on this battlefield, the Horde itself would not end.
In Draenor, there were still orcs living on the homeworld they cherished. In Azeroth, some orcs had escaped the Alliance's crushing grip.
These remnants would one day be the seeds of the Horde's resurgence.
And so, through this final battle, he would do everything he could to preserve the last embers of the Horde.
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