Orthunk Snaggletooth pierced the shell of a turtle egg with a tusk then sucked out the insides. The yolk was good for his old joints. He crushed the shell between his scarred fingers and stuffed it into his mouth. Orthunk looked out the door of the Stonard Inn and watched the Grots milling around outside, some resting wearily in their holes, some practicing their skills in duels. It had been years since he had seen so many bloodless show up in Grom'Gol seeking to join the Grin. The threat of the Cataclysm had drawn the focus of the Alliance and the Horde away from each other, but now that the threat of destruction was defeated, the drums of war thundered.

A strand of liquid egg spindled from Orthunk's lips as he watched the Grots. Bokke Snaggletooth, his younger brother, sharpened his axe against a dwarven skull. Bokke had appeared in Stonard a week before. He was malnourished and fatigued. Fresh marks of battle scarred his hands and face. Clanless, he had found Orthunk and the Grin.

"It seems I have found you, at last," Bokke said to Orthunk as they rode from Stonard to march on the gates of Stormwind. The young orc's tattered mining clothes had been replaced immediately with gear of war, and as they slew scores of Alliance in the Mage Tower, Orthunk began to realize who he was.

Where were the other Snaggleteeth, and why were they coming to the Grin, now? The Worgmaster Utum Snaggletooth had found his way into their ranks months before. He was a cousin of Orthunk, and they had spent their childhood hunting Elekk and burrowing inside the bodies of slain Clefthooves together. A cousin, a brother. Orthunk knew that a great portion of his family had been slain during the wars on Azeroth. He suspected he was the oldest head in the family, but finding the blood of his ancestors awoke something in Orthunk he had not felt in many moons. Orthunk had hunting to do.