Epilogue
Release

AT 1082 (AZ 1454) - Late Summer
Outside the Ruins of Oris, The Darklands

A harsh tug on his chain caused Orguz to lose his balance and fall. He would have hit the ground if the human holding the chain did not pull back, suspending him by the iron collar about his neck.
"Stay on your feet, damn you!" the human barked.
Few Orghim knew the humans' tongue, but knowing it did nothing to improve Orguz's lot any. The Khrom Orghim was shackled about his wrists, ankles and neck, dragged along like some wild beast. At least a beast would not be plagued with shame and regret.
Orguz knew his people were marching to their doom, but he would not have imagined how swift and brutal it would be. The warbands were smashed against the white walls of humans. How many Orghim died for every one human slain? Ten? Twenty? Perhaps even more than that.
There was no retreat for them. They had nowhere to go but forward. That did not stop many from fleeing when the tides of battle quickly turned against them. Death awaited them at either turn, but at least by going forward, they could buy a little more time for their wives and little ones. How many even thought about the ones they left behind? Not as many as there should have been, if the fleeing warriors were any indication.
The chaos of battle would have been the perfect opportunity kill him. The humans would believe they had cut off the head of the snake when they learned his identity and more than a few Orghim would have leapt at the opportunity to take the crown for themselves. However, he was taken alive and sure to suffer a more ignoble fate.
His old body could not keep up. He was mostly dragged deep within the enemy camp. Near the center of the camp was a tent larger and more ornate that the rest, trimmed with burnished gold that glittered even in the dim light that filtered through the ever-present clouds. Out of this tent stepped a man dressed in white robes with gold woven in the strange symbols of their banners. In his hand was a gold-capped staff. Was this supposed to be the humans' king?
"What is this?" the man in white and gold asked.
"A most ancient Kobalos, Your Holiness," one of the men replied. "It would seem that he is their king, if these beasts can be said to have such a thing as a king."
All that could possibly await Orguz was humiliation, torment and death. There were no words that could possibly do him any benefit and yet he could not bear the insult to his people in silence.
"We... are not beasts," he said weakly.
One of the men struck him for his trouble, shouting, "Silence, beast!"
The man in white and gold cocked his head slightly in curiosity and said, "I have never heard of a Kobalos speaking in the human tongue. Where did you learn it, creature?"
"This was once a land of the humans," Orguz replied. "I have studied the land that was. Also, this is the tongue of our King of Kings."
"Blasphemy!" the man in white and gold snapped, striking the ground with his staff. "There is but one King of Kings, our holy Lord the Lucifer!"
Perhaps this was not the human king after all, but it did not matter.
"I know not of your Lord Lucifer," Orguz said, "but he will not deliver you from the Monarch Lich."
Orguz was struck again. He would have fallen to the ground if he was not held up by his chains. The man in white and gold turned away.
"Burn him with the rest."
The man who struck Orguz bowed and replied, "It shall be done, Your Holiness."
Without a word, Orguz was dragged away to one of the great heaps of the dead. So this was how he would meet his end, an ignominious death for an ignominious king whose reign had known nothing but shame.
As one of the humans started to pick up Orguz, another stopped him.
"Don't waste the iron," the human said.
What small hearts. They would begrudge the little iron that made his chains. They could have it. Let them hoard their iron as if it were gold until the iron bite came for them.
The shackles were removed from Orguz, but not only that, the Iron Crown was taken from him. Would it be melted down to make arrowheads to pierce the flesh of his people who remained or perhaps links in the chains that would carry the survivors off for slavery or for sport, if they were allowed to live at all.
There were no tears to weep for his people. His eyes had long since gone dry. There was nothing left for him.
One of the humans picked him up--his body seemed so small compared to theirs--and threw him onto the heap of the dead so easily that he may as well have weighed nothing at all.
Even if he would try to climb down from the heap, there was no escape for him. All was lost. He did not pray to the gods of his ancestors. They were either too weak to help or not listening. There was nothing to be gained from mourning any more than he had. What was lost was lost and would never return. All the evils of his days would be consumed in the fire. Though kindled by the unclean hands of the vile humans, it would be a cleansing flame. The fire would take everything and leave nothing but ashes. The ashes would become part of the earth, the very earth that would pour out its wrath in its own time. Though he would die today, they would die tomorrow and the full reward for their wickedness would be paid in full.
Comforted by that thought, Orguz, son of Orgmar, Khrom Orghim, died.