Thrall: Strength of the Earth Part 3

Thrall continues to grow, now easily the single-most powerfully built leader of the Horde- and he's still only just getting started!

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Thrall was addicted now, he knew it- addicted to improving himself, addicted to growing stronger. He had never truly felt the pull of the demonic curse placed on orcs before their arrival in Azeroth, but he figured it might be something like this. He felt more than powerful; it was like he could do anything, beat any obstacle or foe in his path. And looking at his body, it was hard to argue against that feeling. No orc in Orgrimmar could come close to the titanic physique Thrall had sculpted for himself; his spot as the leader of the orcs was set in stone. At this point, any of the Horde's strongest champions, be they Tauren or the massive dire trolls from Zandalar, had to step aside for him. Amongst the Horde leadership, there was a quiet understanding that Thrall was gaining more power now than he had ever previously wielded before- his sheer, raw power could level whole buildings with a single shamanic spell, or even just the application of his brute strength- his body was hard as stone as it was, overgrown muscles huge enough to give even dragons pause. Now, he was dressing for the part, too.

He had shed his shaman robes; they were hopelessly tiny in comparison to his bulk at this point. Not even Ogrim Doomhammer's armor, which he had worn as Warchief, could encase his might at this point. Thrall was determined to keep a level head, but pride had slowly been creeping into his thoughts; after all, for all his hard work on his body, why not flaunt it? His upper body he left bare; only a hide of a mighty beast was draped over mountainous shoulders. When he tensed arms as large as an ogre's gut, they around him crackled with electric energy, power pulsing through his veins. His biceps swelled, eclipsing even his own head, and his billowing triceps were like anvils. His chest, a deep, green valley with a yawning cleft between burgeoning pecs, puffed up, rising to meet his strong jaw. Heavy, massive flanks flared out like wings, the lats of his back a bulging mass of raw strength. His pillar-like legs, girded in leathers and furs that clung tightly to their mass, surged as he struck a pose- from the bottom of his feet to the tip of his fingers, he could feel the energy and power of the elements flowing through him- the elemental spirits had fully embraced him once more. After all, where else in Azeroth could they find so powerful a vessel, and so steadfast a champion?