For the Horde! (Patreon)

Orgrimmar had seen better days. The once-proud capital of the orcish nation of Durotar had been sacked by a rebellion and the Alliance, and suffered an invasion from the demonic Burning Legion. Now that the Burning Legion had been defeated, the city was crawling with Alliance spies; everyone knew it. The Horde military command couldn’t order an ale without the Alliance intelligence, the fabled SI:7, knowing what color it was. It was becoming an embarrassment, and a main reason why the Warchief would not deign herself to entertain the Horde’s capital with her presence. But the Horde was still in the midst of celebrating their victory over the Legion, and discipline had grown lax; warbands, after travelling to distant worlds to fight off demon lords, were more content to boast and brag in taverns than worry about patrols.

In one such tavern, the Broken Tusk, a pale green orc named Gurak sighed, listening to a warband boast about their victories over at the next table. He had dreamt about serving the Horde and bringing glory and honor to his people, but there was one small problem: Gurak himself was painfully small, for an orc. He had a mop of black hair and two small tusks, which were the only truly orcish thing about him. A vest hung loose from his body, much like it had always done since he was a child. Not much had changed from the days when he would run around Orgrimmar as a child; the only thing that had really changed was his height, his body growing up, but not out. He cursed the fact he never seemed to grow any stronger or larger, his limbs forever thin, chest slight and frail. He had tried to grow; Spirits knew he had tried. He had come back battered and bruised from hunting trips and training sessions, with nothing to show for his efforts. It got worse when goblins had joined the Horde; others began mistaking him for a  tall goblin instead of an orc. Trying to brush back the dark braids of his hair he took a breath, constantly aware that the action caused no noticeable change in his form. Whatever he had done to earn the ire of his ancestors’ spirits, Gurak was almost certainly doomed to a lifetime as a weakling, fit only to serving drinks.

He took a heavy sigh as mugs of frothy ale were snatched out of his hands by the warband. Two orcs, a tauren, and a pandaren were swapping stories about victories over the Alliance.

“I found a troop of Night Elves skulking around Azshara, just north of Gallywix’s Pleasure Palace,” the smaller orc, and the only female of the group, declared. She lifted up a thick, toned arm littered with scars. “Caught one of their arrows with my fist, then bashed theri skulls in with their own bow!”

“Hah!” the tauren thumped the table with his boulder-like fist, leaving a heavy dent. He was a huge beast, even for his kind. He took up half the table, his chest alone nearly twice as wide as Gurak. “That’s nothing. Before I found you lunkheads, I was out near Mulgore when the Alliance showed up, just before Taurajo. I found one of those dwarven tanks and tore it in half!”

The pandaren scoffed. “You expect us to believe that?”

The tauren smirked, and lifted his arm, curling it into a flex as he brought it closer to the pandaren. The bear’s view was filled with heavy bovine muscle, as a bicep larger than his head surged into a mountain, the tauren’s shaggy brown fur stretched taut over the sheer mass of muscle. “You believe this? It’s bigger than your gut, Toji.”

The other orc, a burly, musclebound male, snorted as he snatched another mug from Gurak as he passed by- the poor, smaller orc had been distracted by the tauren flexing. “Here’s a toast to every Alliance dog that dared-”

“Hey!” Gurak leapt up, trying to pry the mug from the much bigger orc as his scrawny arms wrapped around mounds of green muscle. “That’s not your order! You didn’t pay for it.”

The orc chuckled deeply, hoisting Gurak up. “And, what? Some stretched out goblin like you is going to stop me?” He smirked, taking a deep swig of the ale.

“I am an orc!” Gurak snarled, struggling to lift his head above that bicep he was clinging to, gritting his tusks. “Just like you! And you owe me three gold!”

“Toran,” the female muttered. “Just let the kid go, it’s three gold.”

“Just a minute, Kota,” Toran sneered at Gurak, lifting him up with just his arm, letting his feet dangle. “You’re, ah, just like me, huh, runt? How many Alliance dogs did you put down? How many battles have you fought for the Horde, eh?”

“Toran, enough!” the tauren rolled his eyes. “He’s just doing his job.”

“I- I haven’t… been in any battles… I’ve tried!” Gurak said, before the wind was knocked out of him as he was slammed against the wall, Toran holding him in place with the sheer mass of his heaving flanks.

“You’re a runt, and you’ve never had the courage to go to war. I’d say go and die in the barrens, but not even a quillboar could make a meal out of you.” Toran growled, leaning into Gurak before letting him drop in a heap. “You are nothing like me, or any true orc.”

“There. Feel better now that you’ve bullied some random kid?” the tauren rumbled as Toran lumbered back to the table.

Gurak, still coughing and wheezing as he caught his breath, stood on shaking legs. “You…. you still didn’t pay for that drink!”

Toran looked back, and began stomping back, cracking his knuckles.

Kota smacked her forehead. “You stupid little runt…”

When Gurak came back to his senses, he was lying in a crumpled heap, in the dusty alley next to the Broken Tusk. His head felt as if he had been hit by a goblin zeppelin. Groaning, he was still too weak to pick himself up, so dragged himself over to the wall, slumping against it as his head swam.It took him a moment to realize he was cast under a large, looming shadow.

The tauren from the inn was standing over him, dwarfing Gurak. He had shed off whatever armor he wore, leaving his massive torso mostly bare. Abs larger than the puny orc’s fists were bunched together, and his engorged back, sprawling out like the cliffs of Durotar, nearly took up the entire alley. His chest jutted out past his snout, the common hunched posture of the tauren leaving his chin wedged between the crest of his pecs. He snorted, shaking his shaggy mane of brown hair, as two gold ringlets caught the sunlight from his long, curved ebony horns.

“You got the light beat out of you for three gold, kid.”

“I don’t like thieves,” Gurak coughed. “Or bullies.”

The tauren huffed, kneeling down as he scooped Gurak up in one arm. His free hand glowed with holy light as he waved it over the orc, broken ribs and bruises repairing themselves. 

“You’re a paladin?” Gurak said breathlessly.

“Sunwalker,” he corrected. “Call me Kajiko,” he added, standing Gurak rightside up. “I sorted Toran out. He won’t be causing any more trouble. Not here, anyways.”

“I could handle him,” Gurak snarled.

Kajiko let out a barking laugh. “No, you couldn’t.”

Gurak frowned, looking away from the huge tauren. 

Kajiko rested his hand on Gurak’s scrawny shoulder; he meant it to be comforting, but he was dangerously close to throwing him off balance. “Look, kid, I like your spirit, but not everyone in the Horde is going to be some huge warrior with an even bigger axe. Don’t you have any magic skill, or something?”

“I’ve tried. I just… don’t have the talent,” Gurak muttered.

Kajiko sighed, rubbing his chin. “Look, kid…” He looked over his shoulder, then leaned in a bit, his massive chest hovering inches from Gurak’s face. “I wasn’t always like this. There’s a shaman, out in the Valley of Spirits, who helped… strengthen me up.”

Gurak stared at the tauren with a confused look. Kajiko rolled his eyes as he tore off a scrap piece of paper, scribbling out a name. “You’re not the brightest, kid, but you’ve got spirit. Take this to the Valley, and ask for a tauren shaman by the name of Tonrak. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll set you straight. He’s got power that no other shaman has; the power to strengthen the Horde beyond imagining. I’m gonna trust you to keep his secret. Can you do that?”

Gurak brought his bony fist to his chest. “On my honor.”

Kajiko snorted as he nodded. “Good.” He handed over the scrap of paper. “And… remember to be humble, Tonrak likes that. But I don’t think you’ll have a problem with that. I’ve got to get back to my band. If Tonrak helps you out, maybe we’ll see you on the battlefield, eh?” He tousled Gurak’s black hair.

The orc grinned as the tauren left, looking back down at the paper. It had Tonrak’s name, and a phrase written in Taur-ahe he could pronounce, but had no idea what it meant. He started making his way to the Valley of Spirits, in the narrow canyons carved out of the plateau Orgrimmar was nestled in. As the sun began to set, Gurak had a creeping feeling he was being followed.

As it turned out, he was.

“I’ll take that mate, much obliged.” A deep, growling voice hissed in the orc’s ear, before a strong, wiry arm wrapped around him, pulling him further into the shadows. Slammed against a strong, hard chest with a lot of fur, Gurak felt a long, lupine muzzle rest on his shoulder, a long set of sharp teeth “What’d you figure? Me luck’s finally turnin’ around.” The worgen chuckled as he plucked the scroll from Gurak’s hand, pressing a dagger deep into his side. “The secrets of a shaman who can make soldiers stronger, eh? Now that sounds like something the Alliance High Command would want to know about.”

Gurak’s eyes went wide as he struggled against the worgen’s hold, but it was no use. “No! I won’t let you! Lok’tar O-” The worgen buried his blade into Gurak’s side, making the orc wince as he was driven to his knees. 

“I think it’s Ogar this time around, mate.” The hulking black worgen snickered as he gave Gurak a mock salute. “You just rest and let the poison do its work.” Leaning Gurak against a rock wall out of sight, the worgen fell to all four legs and bolted down the canyon path, to the Valley of Spirits.

Gurak clutched his side, gritting his teeth as the stinging pain spread through his body. He had to stop that worgen! His world was spinning as his eyes swam, and he barely had the strength to stand. But as he forced himself to take one grueling step after another, the blood in his veins, the same blood that drove his people through the dark portal, cut a path of destruction across Azeroth, then redeemed his ancestors by defeating demon lords and saving the World Tree, was finally proving just what kind of orc Gurak was made of. He dragged himself to the Valley of Spirits, and in the gloom of night, he spotted the worgen spy, skulking his way up to Tonrak’s hut. He tried calling for the guards, but his voice had abandoned him. With his head pounding and his sides on fire, he picked up a rock, ready to bash the worgen’s head in, if it came to that.

The worgen spy was feeling awfully good about himself as he stood on the hut’s threshold. There was a magic barrier preventing him from getting in, but he had a feeling that oversized goblin’s scroll would be worth something. “Tonrak, eh?” He narrowed his eyes, then looked at the plaque above. “Only the worthy should speak the summons?”

He looked back down at the scroll. “Taur-ahe? Tonrak, I demand your strength…” The spy looked back up at the door, clearing his throat, but not before a rock was smashed against his head.

“Argh!” the worgen snarled, gripping his head as blood trickled down and stained his fur. He swung around, grabbing Gurak with one clawed hand. “You ugly little beast! You’ve got grit, I’ll give ya that.” He threw the orc to the side, Gurak landing in a heap. “I’ll have to check that poison. I wanted you to have a quick death; it was nothing personal, promise, mate.”

“Lok’tar Ogar…” Gurak muttered, the poison nearly getting the better of him.

“Oh, shut up!” the worgen growled, turning back to the hut, looking back to the scroll. “Tonrak, chi ichnae por-ah!” As soon as he spoke the words, there was an intense glow under his feet. The worgen looked down, and saw the intricate scrawling of a frost rune. “Oh, bloody-” In an instant, he was encased in ice, frozen solid.

“Hmph! You’ve got some nerve, more than most, coming to bother an old tauren in the middle of the…” an old, stooped over tauren lumbered out of the hut, his voice trailing off as he stared at the worgen. “What the…? How’d the Alliance find out about me?” He looked over to the scrawny orc lying on the ground. He saw the rock in Gurak’s hand, the wound on the worgen, and was able to put two and two together. Summoning a totem, he called down healing rain on Gurak, the magical water healing his wounds, but the poison still lingered.

“Tonrak…?” Gurak murmured, looking up at the tauren. “I’m sorry… Kajiko sent me… said you could help. I was ambushed… tried to stop…”

The old tauren arched his brow. “You tried taking on this beast, all on your own, for my sake?” He chuckled softly. “Consider me impressed, little one. Let me see what I can do for you.” The shaman held out a hand, the elements answering his call as he pressed his hand down on Gurak, a bloodlust like he had never known rushing through his very core.

The magic washed over him and the first thing that came after was a dull ache, sinking down to the bone. The loose vest he wore was being forced open as that thin chest started to expand, muscle building onto a ribcage that had been too visible for too long. Both his arms were staring to thicken, cords of mass building up as his biceps finally began to make a lump, quickly turning into a mound of solid flesh that bumped into the growing shelf of his chest. His concave stomach rippled as abdominal muscles built up, bricks forming a cobblestone path to his waist. As his weight shifted he could feel his legs growing stronger, wider, having to adjust his stance to manage balancing himself out while his thighs bulged. The poison was purged away, and Gurak was able to stand again.
The sensations of growth had finally faded, his eyes wide with wonder. His body had been altered radically, or at least compared to how he had looked prior. Where once stood little more than a starved waif was a true orc warrior. His chest rose and fell with each gulp of air he took, thick pectorals tensing beneath that green flesh. Clenching his fists he watched his biceps swell, brushing against the sides of his chest. The twigs that were his legs now had actual size to them, a deeply carved teardrop marking his quadriceps. If he had any ability to see his back he would have found it a map of deeply carved muscle, his lats wide and heavy. A neck that may have been as thick as his waist was before twisted as he tried to get a better look at himself, excitement leaving him speechless.

“I use a particularly potent form of bloodlust to empower those I deem worthy… it’s why I have that sign over my door. Any brash warrior that thinks they can just barge in and make demands of me couldn’t handle this. But if Kajiko vouched for you, and seeing as you valiantly tried to save me from an Alliance spy, I think you can handle it.” Tonrak, now at eye level with Gurak, placed a hand on his broadened shoulder. “How do you feel? It’s a bit of a rush at first.”

Gurak was breathless, his mouth open and eyes wide as he stared at his own form. His chest rose up with each deep breath, and he flexed his arm, green skin rung taut over a sheer swell of muscle. “I feel… amazing!” He grinned wide, but remembered his manners, bowing his head to Kajiko. “I thank you, shaman.”

Tonrak grinned, nodding. “I’m happy to help a true son of the Horde.”

Gurak’s feeling of victory, however, was dashed with the sound of cracking ice. The worgen snarled at the two, and before Gurak or Tonrak could react, he threw down a flash bomb, a brilliant flash of light and a billowing cloud of smoke dazing them as he made his escape.

Coughing as he summoned a breeze to blow away the smoke, Tonrak’s heart seized in his chest as he watched the worgen lope away. “He’s going to Fort Triumph!” He turned to Gurak. “Young one, listen to me- he can not tell his superiors about me. I am the only secret left in this damn city. Will you do me this boon, in service to the Horde?”

Gurak all but leapt at the chance, puffing out his newly broadened chest. “Of course! For the Horde!”

“Good man.” Tonrak disappeared into his hut, and reappeared with some loose bits of armor and a hammer. “Relics from my past. We don’t have much time,” he said, pushing the hammer into Gurak’s hand. “I’ll imbue you with all the strength I have left. If you stop him, wonderful- if you free Durotar of Fort Triumph’s presence once and for all, all the better. Are you ready?”

“I… I think I am.” Gurak cleared his throat. “No- I know I am! Lok’tar Ogar!”

Tonrak smirked. “Kajiko picked well.” He took a deep breath, his hands glowing with the powers of the elements as he pressed them against the orc’s mighty chest. That familiar sense of magic washed over him once more, but this time there was no dull ache. He could feel his body start to throb with new might, but unlike the last time the building blocks were already in place. Already strong pecs began to heave outward, muscle writhing and thickening well beyond what should have been natural. Clenching his hands he let out a groan, biceps mashing against his chest as they bloomed with might. The sensation was only mildly alleviated as his lats expanded, forcing his arms upward, propped up by the muscle. His abs were graduating from bricks to anvils, tight masses that could have been used at a forge to hammer metal upon. A belt-like mass of muscle was cut severely just below his abs and lead to his massive thighs, beginning to look more like the trees of Ashenvale given their girth. The orc let out a deep grunt, even his jaw growing thicker while his traps rose, brushing aside his braids while they swallowed up the pillar of his neck. The lines of his back were drawn so deeply between the muscle that they could have been mistaken for the deep crack that split the Barrens in half years ago.
The power racing through him was indescribable, every fiber of his body was electric. He could see his muscles twitching with the slightest movement, his skin barely able to contain him at this point. His own chest was blocking his view downward, a continental shelf of mass tensing and bouncing, shoving up against his lantern jaw. The dark braids hanging from his head were now draped across his traps, or more held aloft by his muscles. A cursory flex of his arm forced his bicep to swelling monstrously, the peak spiking beyond his first as he let out a guttural groan, the sound only made deeper by his vast chest. Taking a step was slow, not only as he gained his balance, but because his thighs were forcing each other apart. In order to move he found himself forcing one thigh around the other, an exaggerated swagger only aided by his gargantuan body. His lats wouldn’t even allow his arms to rest at his sides, propping them up to help complete the image of a wall of moving, green muscle.

“You can admire yourself later- now go! Go!” Tonrak snapped.

Gurak gave a rumbling growl and a toothy grin, before he broke into a lumbering run, the ground of Orgrimmar shaking slightly with each booming step. Charging for the city gate, his vast shoulders scraped against the metal supports, and the rolling, dusty plains of the Barrens sprawled out before him. Scanning the horizon, he could spot the worgen kicking up dust in the night sky. His massive, powerful legs coiled like a siege engine being primed, and launched his hulking form into the sky like a catapult, landing on the ground with an earth-shaking thud. A few more powerful leaps brought Gurak to the gates of Fort Triumph, its defiant walls standing tall, and the blue and gold lion of the Alliance arrogantly flying in the night breeze. The sentries on the wall saw him, just as the worgen slipped behind the fort’s walls, but nothing was going to stop Gurak. 

The giant orc pulled back his arm, biceps the size of direwolves and packing the same ferocity, surging in size as even larger triceps tensed. He swung his fist, and the fort’s gate splintered before him, the stone supports buckling as he forced himself inside. The entire garrison, a hundred Alliance soldiers at least, were pouring out of the barracks, weapons at the ready.

Gurak now loomed over them all. This was the fight he had been waiting for all his life. He puffed out his massive chest, pecs wide and vast as a canyon grinding against one another as he lifted his arms, letting his tectonic plate of a back spread out, hills and swells of muscle rippling down his tapering torso. With one mighty swing of his hammer, he threw back a line of pikemen, and let out a bestial roar that shook the fort. He smirked wide, ready for the fight. He wouldn’t be cruel; this fight would be with honor. But there would be no spy report out of Fort Triumph tonight, and, when Gurak was done, there would be no Fort Triumph, either.