Just arrived at Desolation Hold. I’ll be meeting with Warlord Bloodhilt shortly, but first I need to take an hour or two for myself to let off some steam. It would have been really nice if this first inspection trip after Stonetalon could have gotten off to a good start, but then again I probably just have myself to blame this time.

I should have known better than to start off by going to the ruins of Camp Taurajo.

Of all the things that gall me about the humans, today reminds me of the one I hate the most: their arrogance. Their condescension. Their unrelenting, unmitigated, insufferable smug superiority. All wrapped up with their limitless, guiltless capacity to pat themselves on the back even while they stab you in yours. Worse than a whole race of rogues, they are.

They call us savages.

US.

Look around what’s left of that village and tell me who the savages are. Where is YOUR demon blood, humans? Who is YOUR Mannoroth? We orcs embraced a madness for a time, it’s true, and sold our souls for foolish, fleeting promises of power. What did you sell YOURS for? It looks like given half a chance, you couldn’t give them away fast enough.

And they call US the savages.

The sight of the burning buildings is nothing. It’s the smell of the burning bodies – smoking remains of tauren everywhere. You can’t escape that smell. I’m never going to a steak house again as long as I live. And even then I don’t know what’s worse, the ones that burned, or the ones I can still see – stretched out on the ground, clearly fleeing. Civilians. Children. Those who hung back trying to buy the others time. That’s what their flight master was doing. Omusa Thunderhorn – I knew him. Holding the line on the western edge of the village. His two wyverns fighting and falling beside him…it really is a trait they all share, isn’t it, that loyalty? Mortimer sat by the bodies for a while before I could get him to move. I’d never thought the beasts could grieve. Shows what I know.

There were human looters still lurking about when I arrived. Because there really is no final insult great enough for these humans, is there? They swarmed the place like ants. It seemed as if around every corner there were two more. I was supposed to be passing through to survey the site for just a few minutes. I ended up staying for over an hour, just to make sure there wasn’t a single one of the vermin left living. It’s a pity these humans die so easily, or I might have a feeling of satisfaction.

And then there’s the human behind all this. A general named Hawthorne. Horde agents tracked him down and slaughtered him for his crime – I don’t know whether to give them medals or resent them for depriving me of the chance to do it myself. But you know what? Just as well. Death was too good for him…death was a tiny fragment of what he deserved…death is what he got. A clean death, a quick death, a body returned to his people for whatever burial human custom requires.

And we’re the savages.

They’ll pay for this. I’ll tell you that much. There are whole generations of humans still unborn who will live to curse what’s happened here.

They have no idea what savagery is.

They will learn.

[Header image provided by regular reader and commenter Eravia, used here with permission and many thanks.]