Stream of Consciousness

Lordaeron was a horrible part of the world, no matter what way you sliced it. A land almost more barren than the Barrens, complete with diseased patches of land and deceased vegetation. The Forsaken thrived here, and Gulgrim couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't for this reason alone that nobody ever bothered trying to reclaim Lordaeron after all these years. Looking down at the folded up piece of parchment, he thought to the Argent Crusade and what they might think once the Scourge are gone for good. Would it then be time to Crusade against the Forsaken? One of the largest Argent forward posts and strongholds was only a couple of provinces away from the capital city of the dead after all. Perhaps that was what Stormwind was waiting for – an army of Argent Crudaders to march with the rest of the Alliance in a cleansing ritual of this land.
Where would he stand when that day came? Where would the Clan stand? Gulgrim liked to sometimes pretend that the members of his Clan didn't bother with allegiances to 'King and Country' or anything that was obedience by geographic association. Perhaps the Forsaken had a decent reason, Sylvanas being their patron deity as well as saviour, but only time would tell if they were all pawns in some great scheme by the Dark Lady. Did she really care for her people, or did she care only for her own goals? He was such a hypocrite, he knew, because if Thrall was still around as the leader of the Horde he'd likely continue following his lead like a sick puppy. Like Gremkarc had wanted them to. It had been so easy back then, though. Being able to just follow orders and not worry so much about how best to harness and cultivate the world to promote growth and prosperity. It was thoughts like this that broke Gulgrim's head in more ways than one, leaving behind an inability to concentrate and a splitting headache.
All Gulgrim knew was that Thrall leaving to deal with the bigger picture made Gulgrim question the world around him in a new way. When solidarity was what was needed, it seemed Gulgrim was the only one able to provide it. Desmond had tried, but it was proven once more that his attitude alone made him a shoddy tip to the pyramid. Nobody wanted to deal with a person who would sooner lambaste them than have something constructive to say. Now he'd found himself in a Chieftain position that he didn't feel he'd earned, nor deserved. He was told that everyone was to look up to him, but the first actions he took as Chieftain were to elevate everyone to the same level of power. Every member of Dagger and Totem was a King maker, or a throne breaker.
Back in the early days, when Gulgrim first met Gremkarc, he'd been spurred on by a series of events. He was still immature back then, barely able to look after himself. Following camp fires, glowing embers and Horde braziers, Gulgrim had found Razor Hill and interrupted a meeting between Clan members. A regularly held event. He cried out with his childish demands: “Explain yourself to me! Why have you brought me here? What is here for me?” Questions which led Gremkarc to believe, quite rightly, that Gulgrim was a Shaman in the making. He joined Dagger and Totem that day, but that was not where it all started. Not by a long shot.
The Zeppelin roared over Gilneas, a mostly inert threat now he was told by the Forsaken. This high up in the air, it was easy to believe. You couldn't even make out the shapes of the plague hounds patrolling the countryside. Thoughts buzzed through his mind as if his head were a Silithid borehole. What more could he be doing for his Clan? He'd given them autonomy, but sometimes people want to be told what to do. Want to know what's expected of them. Being free to do as they please, those misplaced patriotic views creep back in, and we feel obligated to complete the will of the Horde of our own free will, as opposed to being forced into it. That's all well and good, but Gulgrim felt that more and more these days he had to think hard before he chose what to do. It was part of the trip to Lordaeron. On the one hand he wanted to speak to Horde Diplomats from both sides in the city, see if there was any subtle coin to be had in this place. On the other, he just wanted to get the hell away from it all. No more choices, just embroil yourself in a foreign land where your name means mud.
Isn't this what Gremkarc had called Shaman leave? Gulgrim had to snicker at that one. Perhaps Shaman leave was just a vacation into the unknown to get your head back together. Gulgrim wouldn't need something so elaborate as Shaman leave, though. The Elements never felt aligned to him anyway, so there was no need to make adjustments. He was there when they wanted him to do something, and generally speaking he didn't even notice he was making requests until his enemies lay burned to a crisp or frozen to the bone. Even Ursala needed to get away from time to time to fix her head. He often wondered what it would be like to be a proper Shaman. To listen to the whispering of the wind and know what it meant. To be given wisdom directly from beyond the grave. Take the Clan atop the mountain, Gulgrim. It's going to piss it down and flood the valley this spring. Or, you know, at least something like that.
Then again, it was usually other people making a big deal out of him not being very good at Shamanism. Not Gremkarc though. Despite seeing many of Gulgrim's failings up close and personal, he still didn't seem to think that those flaws were there – or that they were noticeable enough to diminish Gulgrim's ability to be Chieftain. There were times when Gulgrim had proved himself able to do certain things that others couldn't. During the Isiliosis affair, Gulgrim was the last man standing. He had the disease, the fever was growing within him, but he kept the fires burning long enough to keep the Ogres away thanks to his great constitution. He argued with Corperal Hodges who was almost literally pissing his pants about the arrangements for supplying the medicine they needed, and he essentially helped to lead the last push out of the ruins once everyone had taken the medicine. Times like those Gulgrim could really look back upon with fondness, remembering that he did have it in him to do things well.
Thoughts randomly fell to the Twilight Hammer, and Gulgrim gripped one of his axe handles, rolling his eyes skyward. When Ursala had been taken, he couldn't help but remember the hatred he felt towards the Twilight Cult. He'd gone into full self destruct mode and for a number of months dedicated himself to annihilating the whole lot of them. Liaising with other members of the Horde, they'd uprooted one small Cultist haunt. Gulgrim had killed every last one of them, not even taken a single prisoner, before burning the structure. They'd cheered at his bloodlust, but Gulgrim felt empty afterwards. Like the fire was consuming his insides instead, coursing through his veins. The flames took over, and his anger grew.
Gulgrim continually came back to the same thing though. For all his exploits, he was a young Chieftain. When in internment, there had been ancient Orcs around Harg's age all telling stories of their Chieftain. The strongest, the bravest, the wisest. Even as a pup Gulgrim didn't feel these were heights he could ever reach. He was taller than the other pups back then, but the trouble was he didn't grow much vertically, only horizontally. While other Orcs were developing huge seven feet frames, Gulgrim was busy growing Kodo skulls for shoulders. He'd won the first fight he'd ever been in, a boyhood dispute in the camps that had earned the rod for both young pups. Winning and losing in a situation like that was a fairly moot point, both of them had come to understand quite quickly.
And so he had to wonder, was the Horde another internment system? Under Hellscream's watch, it certainly felt that way at times. Do this for the Horde, because it strengthens the Horde, and that is all you live for. A strong Horde can get things done. That was all well and good to Gulgrim, be he wanted a choice. Things had been so much more casual when Thrall was there, but then that was also a sign of the times. You couldn't help but respect what Garrosh had accomplished in such a short time, Gulgrim conceded, especially since leading the Horde would be a lot worse than herding Dagger and Totem as a singular entity. Luckily for Gulgrim, most of the time Desmond or Gremkarc had their own ideas for the Clan so he was off the hook when it came to suggesting things. Though that thought always came full circle. What was the point of making him Chieftain anyway if he was going to be too afraid to challenge what Gremkarc wanted to happen?
As the craft pulled in over the Durotar bay, Gulgrim was sound asleep. The craft activated its reverse propulsion system to assist in slowing down, which in turn woke the Chieftain of Dagger and Totem. With a grunt he pushed himself to his feet and began to stride for the exit of the Zeppelin. There were a number of other passengers, including a young Orc female who gave him a wicked grin. He smiled back, but didn't slow his strides as the heat of Orgrimmar hit him for the first time. Home, yet not. It was as sweet a place to be as any.
Category:Story