Grot shielded his eyes from the blinding sun with his hand. Squinting tightly he scanned the sandy Tanaris terrain until the silhouette of his armour clad Kali filled his view. Beneath her feet lay the corpse of the dead basilisk, in her plated hand she held its bloody heart.

His dark pact had twisted him forever. Kindness and nobility had died with him. The hard life he had led, the accomplishments he was so proud of despite of his disadvantages; in the end all it accomplished was to leave him bitter and twisted. Beneath it all, he still swore allegiance to the Horde, and in some way all he did was for it.

Kali held up the heart towards Grot, a childishly happy grin hidden beneath her helm. “Look! In my rage I tore its heart from its chest!” Grot’s pulse quickened, watching his mighty warrior woman holding the bloody muscle in her hand, blood dripping between her fingers. His own blood boiling with love and lust; was there ever an orc luckier than he for having such a woman?

When on the battlefield his lust for violence and death took over. He was acting on instinct alone. However, his reasons for being there were a loyalty to the orcish Horde and his still lingering and everlasting desire to please and impress Kali.

Chuckling happily he walked up to Kali, wrapping his arms about her waist, “You vicious animal!” He kissed her plated helm, as she rarely removed it since her own corruption. Kali squeezed him back, the basilisks heart clenched in hand, dripping and squirting blood onto the back of his robes.

Pulling back, he stared into her luminescent eyes, grinning devilishly, “Let us go. I yearn to bath in Alliance blood.” Then the thought of them embracing, clothed only in their enemies blood sent his heart racing. He incinerated the last basilisk that Krakkrit, his void walker, was keeping entertained. Plucking its singed eyeball and tossing it to Kali he spoke in a deep voice “For you my dear. Now let us go! I have much planned.” Kali caught the eyeball and grinned, as if reading Grot’s mind, and raced after him.


Grot sat in front of his dimly lit work table; powders, crystals, fabrics, thread and a myriad of other items strewn about chaotically in front of him as he stared at the mess with dissatisfaction. Moments ago it had been organized neatly, but his frustration caused him to violently upturn it all and wreck a nights work. He cursed himself out loud, certain it wouldn’t awake the sleeping Kali. Nothing could awake her in the midst of her slumber, except the approach of danger, and even then he wouldn’t entirely count on it.

In the past Grot was ever mindful of Kali’s well being. Almost to the point of annoyance, he hovered about seeking to lift any unnecessary weight from her shoulders. Not that he felt she needed help, by no means. Kali was an orc woman as great as any there was. Could bare any burden thrust upon her. However, as far as Grot could see… She had bore enough.

Fleeing her old clan, Kali had took it upon herself to raise her little sister free of demonic influences. One young girl raising another meant a rough life for both, Grot, though clanless himself and without parental aid, sought to make her life easier. Not much older than her, he had no delusions of being a big brother looking out for his little sister. He looked into that little girls heart and saw a proud young woman he admired, and admiration he would not betray in thought or deed. Every crumb of food he scrounged, he shared with her, and she in turn passed it onto her sister.

As Grot was obsessed with Kali in some wholesome way, so too she was obsessed with providing for the young girl she took it upon herself to protect.

Lately Kali had become less responsive to him. She still talked eagerly with him, looked at him fondly and grew excited at his schemes, but all was not the same. In times past, Kali would’ve never condescended to take an order, or even a request not politely phrased, even from him; no, especially from him. She always saw some potential romance with Grot and never dared let any orc place her in such a position of inferiority in a relationship. Someday she would be bound in love, but not as an inferior.

These days, however, Grot’s manner of speaking with her had become more curt. He lost his soothing respectful tone over time. He even began to make demands of the mighty warrior, and she never flinched or denied him. Slowly over time he probed her tolerance, asking of her more. She bent to his will readily. This thought disturbed him. Had his ministrations and deals to procure Kali’s affections wrought a greater price then he thought? He wanted his mighty woman, wanted her with his entire body and being. But in the process, he pondered, had he destroyed the Kali that he so desired?

Together Grot and Kali had made their way from the depths of despair. They survived the strife in the east, survived the days of the camps, and when the new Warchief’s cry called all orcs to him, they answered and gave themselves to the new Horde. No longer children, they studied and fought in those early days of the new Horde. They journeyed to the west and helped forge a new land, Durotar.

Their paths would not be the same however. Kali was undeniably a warrior, her strength and determination led her to no other path. Grot studied the ‘old ways’, learned of the shamans path, and while he lay awake each night, exhausted from the days lessons, he thought only of Kali. Images of her sleek, muscled form fighting endlessly against the masses of opponents she must have been facing haunted his vision.

A plan to test Kali raced through his mind as he fumbled through the mess of materials, searching for the right fabric and thread. Dropping the needle to the floor, he looked down and was suddenly reminded of his own raggedly torn bare-chest. Not entirely clotted over, blood still oozed from many of those cuts and scrapes. Grot was by no means superficial or vain, and this was perhaps the first time he looked upon his own body in months. Seeing his muscled green orcish form, he was reminded of yet another gift for which he paid dearly. His size seemed awfully large for one not often fighting in close quarters; and it was. In the beginning it was one little way he thought he might win the warrior of his dreams, but like himself, she was not concerned with such matters. A price paid to no effect.

Picking the needle from the floor he returned to his work, doing so without the greatest attention paid to it. His weary eyes wandered the room as his fingers worked of their own accord, and he eyed the mangled corpse in the corner of their bedroom. What were they again? He could not make out the victims race and for all his weariness could not remember it, no matter how hard he tried. “Some other Alliance fool, what else matters?” he muttered to himself, looking back to his work.

So much had changed during their time apart. Kali had matured, ripened and grown, in abilities and stature, only greater. When Grot looked upon her again after so long, he spied a woman of unfathomable prowess and beauty, already possessing single battle scars of more glorious events than his totaled. He shrunk away that day, embarrassed at his own shortcomings. Disappointed with his own lack of progress as a shaman. He was not worthy of her then, and would never be at this pace. That resilient girl that held her little sister in her arms, through fire and darkness, against all odds and by herself, was growing by leaps and bounds each day, while he felt like he was standing still, waiting for the elements to find him worthy.

Grinning to himself, Grot finished one piece of his work and began on another. Perhaps this tailoring business wasn’t so useless after all, he thought to himself. In his mind played images of the day ahead, chuckling to himself at the table. Speedily he tried to finish his work so that he could return to bed, and get at least a couple of hours of sleep before sunrise. Sleep filled his thoughts then, and slowly his lids closed until a careless pin prick awoke him to his late night reality. The blood soaked into the black cloth and he sighed, too weary to be angry.

Comforting himself he looked towards the bed, grinning toothily at his lovers form. Yes, he would prove it. Kali was not gone, he had not killed the little girl he so admired. No, never. She was merely awakened to her full potential. He repeated it to himself several times in his head. Her abilities were unchained, just like his were. Tomorrow he would prove it. Yes, tomorrow. He laid aside a finished product, and began another. His head nodding slightly in the faint candle glow as he murmured to himself.


Grot stared off over the white, windblown expanse of Winterspring, stroking his beard as he sat atop the singed and bloodied furbolg beneath him. There he pondered his next move, the chilled wind blowing his newly crafted robe about, irritating him slightly if not for his preoccupation.

His test had failed… In a way. Kali showed up that night in Tirisfal in her flowing black gown, the one he made for her. His failure did not strike him then. No, instead he was taken away by her dark beauty and the satisfaction of knowing she was wearing the product of his hands. Quickly he had embraced her, held her firmly in his arms and let blood and desire drive his actions. He had been a fool.

Each day Grot’s power seemed to grow by leaps and bounds. When embarking on the path of the shaman, never had he dreamed such a thing was possible. How could it have been, with the restrictions of those fools? Instead now he sat amongst the blowing snow swearing he could feel that invisible crackle of power flowing between his fingers, feeling like it might never stop growing.

He had surpassed Kali as of late. In times long ago he would’ve felt much pride in that. However, everything he had done was to help her grow. Her natural strength and power seemed boundless. His unleashing of that should only have helped. Instead of feeling victorious, he felt defeated. His test had failed, and Kali was not keeping pace with him. In retrospect, his actions seemed selfish. “No”, he thought to himself, “Kali and I are one now. As I grow, we grow.”

That dreary night in Tirisfal was one of the happiest of his life. Though later on, he would doubt the sincerity. So insatiable was his love and desire for her, that in the end when he lay broken and powerless, his heart opened to her as it never had and he felt something that was strange and foreign to him. It would not last.

Standing up, Grot began plodding through the snow. Suddenly he was more aware of the bitter winds biting into his green skin, though before he could do anything about it, he sighted off in the distance a large band of furbolg blocking his path. He spat out the word “Nuisances.”

Raising his hand it seemed to light aflame with dark energy, his will summoning a demonic temptress whom he loathed. She appeared in her usual fashion and before she had a chance to displease him further he gestured for her to get to work. Sighing in exasperation, she frowned and began running towards the group as her masters glare pierced her backside.

Before she could reach them one burst into flames. In the blink of an eye the entire group, minus one, was screaming in agony and rage. Having done his work, and done it efficiently, Grot cast his eyes to the conjured wench, his eyes bulging at her failure to charm the furry beast.

Brawling with the creature, the succubus fought with her whip and hands, unaware of her master quickly walking up behind her. Her adversary began to writhe from his inflictions and she was pleased, knowing the battle would soon be at an end. Quickly however, her smirk was wiped clean as his thick orcish hand grasped her about the neck, lifting her up before throwing her down into the cold snow.

The furbolg rained blows upon Grot as he stared down at the purple nymph, his breath heavy and furious, eyes alight with fire. Quickly he pounced down upon her, raining blows against her seemingly delicate face, words of hatred and damnation spewing onto her. In response she did… Nothing. The shock was too much, and she was overpowered.

Slowly, some of the furbolg began to waver, their life sapping from them quickly as they continued to beat on the warlock. Grot, however, was consumed by rage and unaware. Finally, as the demon went limp beneath him and started to lose consciousness, he dug his clawed thumbs into her eye sockets. Sharp tips piercing the orbs there, causing them to spurt her demonic ooze. Then, with one final shriek the demon faded into her foul realm.

The warmth of love and happiness that filled him that night in Tirisfal prompted him to turn to Kali, speaking in soft, respectful tones. “Kali my love, your companionship has fulfilled my every desire… Now, if I could, I would ask of you something.” To which Kali of course nodded enthusiastically, awaiting Grot’s request. “In you could be created the greatest orc known to the Horde. Together we could give birth to and raise a mighty child who would accomplish more than our wildest dreams! Tell me now, would you do this with me?”

To which she of course agreed. What else could she say?

Grot rose from the snow, leaving there only the indentations and blood his actions had created. Suddenly he grew aware of the situation and felt his own well being threatened. He spun about and witnessed the last of the vermin fall over, dead.

Sighing in disappointment, he pondered resummoning the wench once more, to inflict more suffering upon her for failing. Inside, however, he knew it was more than that. More, even, than his irritation with her nerve to assume she could seduce or usurp him.

Not bothering to bandage his many wounds, Grot stormed off through the snow, quickly hiding himself in the blowing snow on his way back to town. His conflict over what he had or had not been done to Kali subsided, now he was focused on finding her again, attending to business.


Soon his power would be great enough to set the next stage of his plans in motion. Though he was sure to become only more irritated with solicitations in the coming days, he knew what had to be done, and would suffer it for now.

Often, lately, his mind would turn to thoughts of inflicting suffering and death upon those who sought to control or use him to their benefit. “Bah! As if I’m some pet demon to be manipulated,” he snarled to Kali in the rancid wastes of Silithus. Swinging his scythe up over his head, Grot brought it down onto the head of a dying twilight cultist, finishing its miserable life on its pointed tip just for fun.

Kali giggled and broke into a chuckle at Grot’s display, having finished with her prey, some mage scum. Kicking her heel into his stomach, she pulled her axe from his chest and turned to her lover, “Let’s keep going! This is amusing,” she grinned through the slit in her helm, “and you’re even getting into it with your scythe!”

Grot’s lips began to form into a smirk as he looked into her eyes, that is, until they instinctively rolled down along this titaness’ armoured body, suddenly reminded of their failure. “Why hasn’t it worked yet?!” He stared at her plate covered stomach.

Kali frowned, letting her arm holding the axe dangle down, “I’m sorry my love…” Grot waved a hand dismissively, irritated by her response.

Grasping his scythe in both hands, he yanked it from the dead humans head with a grunt. “Let’s keep going.” With that, Kali’s frown faded almost immediately and she nodded.

As of late, their encounters with the newly revived Stormreavers were increasing. Grot was well aware of their existence, and had been conscious of their revival before it even happened. The old orc who led them, Juralek, had given him far more information than he should have on their first encounter.

Kali had divulged too much of her own accord to him as well, her loose tongue was becoming a problem. She had not the cautious nature necessary for what he had in mind. However, it was no big issue. She had said nothing of their future goals, just of what had been done already.

These encounters were beginning to trouble him however. Grot had faint notions of the old orcs plans, and would not be manipulated into aiding them. However, he was curious to know more and searched his followers for answers and information. If there was one principle to which Grot held tightly, it was that knowledge is power. And he desired more power.

Later that day they found themselves in Mulgore. Some pesky Alliance had started killing the weakest of the furballs. Not that Grot cared, but they were Alliance and so must die. After much frustration with their sneaky tactics, he tasted the blood of one despicable and honourless rogue.

The fight dragged on however. The other, an elven druid, was not as stupid or underhanded and was proving difficult to catch. Kali growled “He is without honour! Show yourself and fight!”

“He’s merely toying with us; he has no intention of engaging real fighters.” Grot stated calmly.

“Come out!” Kali stormed about Bloodhoof on her worg, furious with the lack of combat.

With that he finally decided it was a waste of time. “Come Kali, let’s go. There are much more productive endeavors we could be spending our time on.” As he turned to leave, Grot heard the strange tones of the elf as he spoke about Kali from the safety of his hiding. The odd remarks could only mean one thing, and his ears burned with hatred.

Grot spun about frantically. “You filth! I shall choke the life from your scrawny elvish neck with my bare hands!” he screamed in his furious rage. It was all in futility. The elf would not show himself, and finally they began to leave.

“I’m sorry I could not claim his life…” Kali said in a disappointed tone.

Grot spun about on his fiery steed, “Stop apologizing! Why would a warrior as great as you ever need to apologize?!” his eyes flamed in anger as he pointed at her atop her worg.

The encounters with Stormreavers, their enquiries and messages, were troubling to Grot. Was the deluded old orc plotting something against him? He’d find out eventually. The novices he encountered would not hold secrets from Grot for long, indeed they hadn’t.

Kali was troubled by their appearances somewhat and seemed to always frighten them off. Subtlety was a skill she lacked. He loved her all the more for it, but it sometimes proved difficult. He couldn’t wring the truth from someone if they were dead or gone.

Perhaps he was being paranoid. He was fairly certain he was. However, that’s how he’d gotten as far as he did. No one can surprise you when you suspect everyone of anything. If Juralek was weaving some plot against him, he’d find it out and stop him. If not, he might finish the old orc anyways.

Better safe than sorry. He was sowing the seeds of the future after all.

That night Grot walked out of their bedroom, leaving Kali asleep on the floor where she rested. Stepping into the cold night air he walked slowly through the snow, hearing it compact beneath his feet.

When he felt he was far enough away, he raised his clenched fist and from the nether conjured the tiny succubus once more. Immediately she cringed and Grot held a finger to his grinning lips, “Shhh.” She stared up at him, wide eyed, as if silently pleading for mercy.

Grot’s grin faded and he struck out with his hand once more, clenching his fingers around her neck. “You’ll satisfy me this eve abomination.” He spat in her face and dragged her along the ground to the rock formation surrounding the pond. Suddenly he began pounding the back of her head into the stones until there was nothing of substance to smash and she faded from Azeroth once more. There was nothing more left of her but the blood splattered on the snow, rocks and the icy pond water.

He clenched and flexed his fingers, inhaling the cold night air deep into his lungs before summoning her back again, and again.


Loud grunting came from their bedroom. Grot could be heard panting and groaning throughout the abode. Sweat formed on his brow as he jerked and thrust, the screams from beneath him piercing through the gag intended to silence them.

One of his massive hands clamped down on her shoulder, keeping her steady as he had his way with the succubus. He’d spent much time with her this evening, and drawn out their time much longer than ever before, only increasing his own pleasure. The little succubus writhed in Grot’s iron grasp, crying and spasming from his intrusion deep inside her.

Closing his eyes, Grot arched back his head and let out a cry of delight, wiping his soaking hand across his face causing it to glisten in the moonlit room. Breathing heavily Grot finally stepped back, watching the succubus fade away as blood gushed from the gaping wound in her stomach, and entrails hung loose. He let the jagged cork-screw like object he’d been thrusting into her drop to the floor as he sat atop Kali and theirs bed.

He had learnt to prolong the moment with the demon. Tonight he kept her alive and in agony for hours before performing her final coup de grace.

Kali was away this night, performing some mission for him. Grot’s fingers were reaching to every corner of Azeroth lately, and Kali was his greatest. On the fiery hand of Grot, she was his thumb, without which it was all useless.

He missed her presence. The room felt so lonely without her, though even when she was there he often still felt he missed his beloved Kali.

Young little Kali, still a child, pinned Grot to the rocky ground dressed in her simple loincloths. “No! You see?! I’m the strongest!” She punched his chest, and he would’ve clutched himself there in pain had her legs not been keeping his arms pressed into the dirt.

“Kali! Let me up!” He growled in his own childlike and high-pitched voice.

“Not until you admit I’m the strongest!” She smirked down at him and drew her fist back to punch him in the face, and though he moved his head to the side she still clipped his jaw.

“Argh! Fine! You’re the strongest Kali!” to which she giggled and pummeled his chest a bit more before standing up.

The Burning Steppes were broiling. Grot loved it here. Dark and desolate, with fire spewing from every crag and crevice, it felt comforting.

Kali and him had fought their way to the top of some tower held by the Blackrock orcs. Overlooking the entirety of the valley, the two of them were enjoying the view immensely. “Ahh, a pity we could not run this place.” And with that he inhaled deeply and grinned at Kali, who smiled back at him through the slit of her helm.

That was when she noticed the blood soaking through his robe’s sleeve, and she quickly grabbed for a bandage to heal him. Grot eyed her quick fingers moving as she tended to his wound with care. He placed his other hand at the back of her neck, and grasped her there with thick fingers, “Thank you.” Kali looked up to him and beamed with joy.

Young Grot had spent all day scavenging in the wilds. Food was scarce for him these days, but he never ceased looking. And this evening he brought back with him a full four-legged thing that looked like a horse. However, unlike a horse, it was extremely tiny and would not be enough for all three of them.

Blood dripped from it as it hung from his shoulder, down across his bare chest and into his black, ragged pants. He entered the ring about the fire, where Kali sat and Lae slept, with a smile upon his face.

Kali looked up at him wide eyed “That’s a nice looking meal you have for yourself!”

He shook his head and tossed it down beside Kali, “No! For you!”

Kali’s look seemed obstinate, “I can fend for myself, we’ve eaten already.” And she certainly had, though none of them were ever full these days, so they could always use more.

Grot frowned, “But… It’s a present!” That would not soften Kali’s mood however. Though shortly her expression changed and she looked at the sleeping Lae, then nodded back to him.

“Fine, Lae could always use more. She’s still so young.”

Grot’s mouth watered as he watched her skin and cut up the animal, cooking it and giving it to her little sister. He was so hungry after all that time searching, but when she offered up what Lae didn’t want back to him, he refused, “I swiped some cooked meat from a human today.”

She growled at him, knowing his ways, “Eat it you dumb fool! You’re not going to help anyone if you starve to death!”

It was another dark night in their bedroom, and Grot sat on the edge of his bed, bare muscled chest moving with his clockwork breathing. The room was almost dead silent, except for the sounds of moist smacking.

On the floor between his legs knelt the very nude Kali. Not a stitch of clothing adorned her green and curvaceous body. From her thick shoulders, down across her amply curved breasts and to pressed thighs. She was a vision of orcish perfection; proportioned like no other, battle scars that told of a might that belied her years.

And so she knelt before him, his black pants undone as she eagerly lapped at his thick cock. Her smile never faded, and her fangs always peeked out through her lips because of it, though she took every care in pleasuring his member.

Grot stared down at her body, illuminated only by the candle light. Her full breasts bouncing with her eager movements, dark green nipples erect from the simple excitement of pleasing him. Her face, her glorious face, hungrily and happily sucking, licking and lapping at him. Her mouth felt so wonderful and seeing it stuffed with his throbbing manhood had never ceased to delight him before.

Tonight however, Grot was not impressed.

She had been orally pleasing him for hours and it failed to satisfy or excite him. He pushed her face away from his crotch, and she momentarily frowned before pulling off his pants completely. “I can do better!” She stated eagerly and raised herself up upon her knees, brushing her breasts against his member.

Her firm flesh surrounded his thick aching shaft, and as she raised and lowered them playfully, her stiff nipples poked and scraped across his hanging balls, then back up. Looking at her doing this, any orc would drop to their own knees in ecstasy. But tonight, Grot only grew more frustrated.

Grot reached out and grabbed her by the back of her neck, standing up onto his feet and throwing her naked body to the bed upon her back. She looked up at his scowled face with surprise and delight; he was playing rough with her, oh how she loved that game.

Tonight he just threw his bulky muscular frame upon her, swollen rod dangling down towards her. She threw open her legs to him immediately, revealing her most private of areas to him. Nestled between her thighs, it appeared the only delicate and vulnerable spot on her voluptuous body. Above it was a small amount of black hair that Grot had nuzzled into upon their first time together physically.

She was an orcish goddess laid before him, but he would not stop to look. He immediately thrust his full cock into her, more roughly than he ever had and without concern for her readiness. He tore into her delicate loins and without pause fucked her without mercy. Opening his eyes as he beat into her, he saw her smiling, eyes closed and neck arched back.

He clutched a hand around one of her breasts, digging his sharp claws into her firm flesh. With his mouth he bent down, ever thrusting into her with his iron cock, he bit into her other globe. His pointed fangs sunk into her and crimson blood spilt out. Kali gasped as Grot sucked her tit, drinking the blood that escaped as if feeding from her bosom.

But the more he pummeled and abused her sexy body, the more dissatisfied he became. She took all the pain, and never flinched or lost her grin.

He stared down at her face, cock thrusting into her as if he were wielding a weapon against her body. His hands moved up her body and clasped around her neck. Kali’s eyes bolted open suddenly and she stared up at Grot. He was choking her with all the strength his thick orcish hands could muster, and she lay there in shock, eyes wide in disbelief.

Thrusting into her cunt still, his member tingled and seemed to light afire. Kali touched Grot’s arms with her hands, hoping this was some new game. His grasp never weakened, and his face was flush with excitement and perspiration.

Her claws dug into his arms as she struggled for breath. Her body spasmed and jerked; she was suffocating and her lover was doing it to her. Grot’s eyes never left hers, even as they rolled back in their sockets.

Kali’s life was fading, when suddenly she struck up. Her fingers left deep gashes over Grot’s left eye and blood poured from them. His hold weakened as he flung his face about in pain. But Kali struck him again, this time with her fist back into the same spot. She was far stronger than him, and he was knocked back by her blow, falling from the bed and his shaft slipping from her honeyed vaginal embrace.

She choked for breath only momentarily before leaping atop of him on the floor. His semen dripping from her folds as she rained hardened unrestrained blows upon him. Grot’s jaw broke with her first strike, and from there she quickly knocked him into unconsciousness.

He awoke sometime the next day. Unable to speak as his jaw fell about limply, he could feel nothing but pain. His entire body was broken and in agony. In his ears all he could hear was a humming, while half his world was red. His death was near.

But somehow, through the blinding pain, he felt the tender touches of Kali. She knelt beside him, still nude, tending to his wounds and looking with worry and concern, her eyes puffy. He tried to smile but only heard a loud snap followed by greater pain.

Kali bent over him and kissed his swollen upper lip before he passed out of consciousness again.

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