Grazzug sat at his desk in his home. It was just passed dusk and the firelight of a torch was all that lit the room.
He sat and reviewed reports from recent events and he couldn’t help but notice that things were pretty chaotic of late. Fighting the avatars of primal gods; fending off elite armies of deathspeaking humans and demon-worshipping orcs; getting in trouble with the Steamwheedles and even tracking down and killing those who were their allies less than a year prior.
Many of his mercenaries were traversing the whole of Azeroth and beyond to carry out contracts of all manner. He wondered if the burden was becoming too great…
Ralka brushed the tarp that acted as a door to the bedchamber aside and entered the room. “Braktar just arrived and he’s asking for you. Should I tell him it’s late and send him away?”
Grazzug put his quill into the ink pot and stretched. “No, no. I’ll speak to him..”
Ralka gave him an annoyed look and stepped back into the main hall. Grazzug stood from his chair and picked his breastplate out from an armor rack. He set the armor straps and then donned his tabard and cowl. The orc was weary and it was late, but he was not about to turn the troll away. Not only would such action show possible weakness, the ‘Shadow Hunters’ were Vol’jin’s eyes and ears now. They were the ‘elite’ of the new order. Grazzug knew he lucky that it was Braktar who was taking orders….
He crossed the room and, after taking a moment to compose himself, entered the hall. The troll was there, seated at the table, watching Grazzug through his ornate Rush’kah mask. “Bossmon.”
Grazzzug took the seat opposite the troll. “Are you here to deliver your report regarding your time in Pandaria, shadow hunter? Or are you just visiting?”
The troll remained impassive. “I’ll see ya report to ya by tomorrow. De Golden Fleet been circlin’ and sent several ships down to da coast again. Dey be causin’ problems.”
Ralka entered the room and placed a tankard before her mate. Grazzug whispered a thanks to her. She placed her hand on his shoulder, gave Braktar a curt nod and promptly returned to the backroom. Grazzug took a drink, “I’ll see to it the matter of the Zandalari is handled. Now… why are you here if not for your report?”
The troll leaned forward, entwining his hands and resting his gangly arms on the table’s surface. “I got a proposition for ya, bossmon.”
Grazzug nodded. “You have my ear.”
Braktar grinned. “Good. De mercenaries been doin’ lots lately and been honing deir skills. I was tinking we put together a little tournament. A trial o’ strength. If enough sign up dey can do it in duos. Get de mercenaries together and have ‘em fight one anudda.”
Grazzug mulled it over. “You propose duels of will. Mak’Rogahn… but for what cause?”
The troll’s excitement betrayed his previously cool exterior. “Glory to da warchief. Ya hold de tournament and ya show just what de mercenaries be made of… and ya do so proclaiming glory to de Vol’jin.”
Grazzug took another drink. “The idea has merit.”
Braktar nodded frantically, “And if it pleases ya, invite dose deaders of da Scythe and da elves of da Seekers! Let dem prove deir mettle ‘gainst ya own!”
Grazzug leaned back in his chair. The idea had more than simple merit. It was perfect. A local and orderly competition fought by his forces through all divisions of the mercenaries and even their allies. A friendly competition.
The orc commander grinned to himself, “The Lohn’Kosh…”