I don't think I truly believed it, until I saw it with my own two eyes.
As a young girl I remember stories of the Worgen that stalked the woods of Ashenvale. Once I even saw a dead one that the Sentinels had brought to Astranaar. I was told it was some kind of curse. Never really thought I'd stand so close to one that was alive and angry.
The wind howls as it moves across the grassy valley of Mulgore. The clouds gather and boil overhead in an angry dance, threatening to pour rain on us at any moment. This storm almost seems unnatural, like it heralds an end to the world as we know it.
"Would you care for some more stew my child." Arch Druid Hamuul says as he stirs the contents of the ceramic pot nestled in our wind-whipped campfire.
I shake my head at the old tauren as I continue to stare into the night sky. Above me I hear the creaking of the funeral platform that Hamuul helped me build for poor little Meekha. Her body is wrapped in white linen cloth, giving her a ghostly appearance. She reminds me of my sister, whose buried not far from where I sit.
Lightning flashes overhead and the steady roll of thunder echos across the walls and bluffs of this valley.
"The shamans say that the elements are in turmoil" Hamuul says in but a whisper. "Strange storms, earthquakes... it is all unsettling. Feels like the whole world is out of balance"
"Elder, I don't know what to do anymore." I say with a pout.
He turns and looks at me for a moment, and then smiles. "It is going to rain soon. Maybe you should eat some stew? Yes, thats what you should do, eat stew." He replies as he scoops some of the hearty broth into a wooden bowl and hands it to me. "Sometimes when in sorrow it is best to focus on the little things that are good."
The warm bowl feels good on my hands. I drink from the edge of it, watching the vapor rise from the stew into the cold air.
After a moment I turn to him, as a tear rolls down my cheek. "Hamuul, I am tired of being sad. I feel so alone and scared." I pause as the old tauren places his hand on my shoulder. "Honestly, there was a time that I think I actually loved him... I was drawn to his desperation. Now that I have seen what he really is, I am scared of him. I just want to go back to my home in Darkshore and forget about all of this."
"Charibdys" Hamuul replies "You have done enough for me and the order. After what you have told me it is clear that Calmfury is not the creature we thought he was. I fear that we have loosed a monster on this world, and it is all my fault."
A strong gust of wind hits us hard at the same time that lightning cracks in the clouds above us. Animalistic fear rises in my chest as I jump in startlement. Suddenly, as if on cue, the rain begins to fall.
Hamuul looks at me and seems to pout as rain pelts his fur. He seems like a comical little boy sometimes. Taking joy in the most innane things, and suffering misery like a spoiled child. The mother in me wants to take care of him. But, I know that for all his unusual ways he is as wise as the stars in the night sky.
"Charibdys, I think you should leave this misery behind you and find your way back through the dream. Or perhaps you can help us to find Malfurion. I am going to Darnassus in a few days if you want to accompany me." Hamuul says with a smile and a wink.
"Darnassus?" I reply with an enthusiatic squeal. "why are you going ther....."
Suddenly the night is pierced with the cries of the plainstriders. In the dim light we can see a group of them stampeding across the grass. Then we see him, like a vision from hell, Calmfury emerges from darkness in the shape of a bear. His fur is matted and stained with blood and gore, the steady rhythmn of his heavy breathing sending plumes of hot vapor into the cold air.
"Calmfury my child, it is good to see you again." Hamuul says with a smile as he rises from the ground.
Without saying a word Calmfury shifts out of bear form. He looks even worse as a tauren, smeared with blood as if it was some sort of war paint. He then loosens a makeshift rope from around his shoulders, and flings a torn and battered corpse at our feet. The unrecognizable heap looks as though it had been dragged across Azeroth.
"Why is he here?" he says to me as he looks at me with his permanent hateful glare and motions to Elder Hamuul.
I step backwards in trepidation.
Hamuul steps forward in a confrontational manner. "She asked me to be here Calmfury! I came to pay my respects to the dead." The old bull stands upright, his chest puffed out and his hands balled into fists. Despite his age, he is still an imposing figure.
Calmfury eyes Hamuul for a moment, almost as if he is weighing if he could kill him. He may be able to take the Elder in a fight, but not the both of us, if he's counting on me to stand idly by, or even take his side, he is sorely mistaken.
"Fine! old fool, stay if you like. But, don't get in the way." Calmfury says with a growl as he drags the corpse past us towards the funeral platform.
As he does, I see the mangled and unrecognizable face of the sack of bones twitch and moan.
"It is still alive!!" I shout in horror.
Calmfury tosses the body to the base of the tower and raises his arms to the miserable sky.
"Meekha!! My beloved daughter!!" he shouts in anguish "This body is set at your feet so that you can see my promise fullfilled!!"
"Calmfury!! who is this that you have brought to defile poor Meekha's grave with?" Hamuul snarls in anger.
"It is her father Hamuul" I say in sorrow
The elder looks at me with horror across his face. Meanwhile, Calmfury stands like a statue in the wind and rain. The water drawing droplets of filth and gore down his sides.
Suddenly, he turns and walks past us, grabbing a burning log from the fire, and coldly knocking over the pot of stew.
"It is not our way to burn the dead Calmfury." Hamuul says through gritted teeth. "they must decompose naturally, allowing their bodies..."
"I am not concerned with your idiotic customs Elder!!" Calmfury replies in a low, menacing tone.
"Idiotic customs!! We are your people Calmfury, you were raised on the plains of Mulgore. We love you, you are one of us."
Calmfury turns suddenly, his eyes blazing with hatred. "I am not one of you, I am a child of the night, forged in darkness and despair! Everything good in me died with her, and I will most gladly give every day I have left, every drop of my cursed blood to see that the dogs that did this to her suffer in the worst way imaginable."
Lightning crashes overhead once again as the two stare at each other. The rain pours in long sheets of cold misery. I realize now that there is no going back for any of us. We have touched the face of a nameless feeling, and the world is indeed at it's end... at least for us.
Calmfury turns and tosses the smoldering log on the chest of Meekha's father. As if by some strange magic, the flames begin to rise and dance across his body. Then corpse begins to scream in a horrific, gurgling voice.
"Calmfury, you have just defiled Meekha's grave." Hamuul says as he spits on the ground. "You are right, you are not one of us, and I am ashamed I ever loved you as a son. Leave this land and never return."
His bitter words ring out painfully.
In dejected despair the old tauren turns and walks away into the cold night. Surprisingly I see regret wash across Calmfury's face as he watches him leave. Behind him Goregreedy finally stops thrashing and falls silent as he mercifully dies. The flames from the bonfire that now surrounds him, spread upwards and catch Meekha's funeral tower ablaze.
Without saying a word I turn and follow Hamuul into the night.
As we pass into the dark grassy fields I can hear the anguished cries of that monster behind us. Yet, no pity, remorse, or compassion rises in my heart for him.
"I am coming for you Garrosh Hellscream!! I am coming and you will suffer all the torments of hell at my hand!!" Calmfury screams out into the night.
Lightning crashes overhead once again, almost as if the very world is answering his foolish oath.
My last thought on the subject, before I gave up on misery and walked away, was that I hope Garrosh kills him.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
pt 46 A promise fullfilled
I feel numb. My cold, lifeless heart bears no pain or contrition. There are no tears in my eyes. Perhaps the saddest thing in the world is the desire to grieve without the ability.
It is no surprise really. I did not grieve for my wife after I put an axe in her skull. The day after I returned from my captivity with the Lich King, she presented me our baby daughter, that was born in my absence, and when I could not show her affection, Morgilla rejected me. It is wrong to believe that a Death Knight cannot feel emotion. Actually, we feel the emotion of rage quite strongly.
So here I am, on the deck of this flying junkyard the Goblins call a zepplin, watching the darkened hills of Durotar pass below me. The cold wind blowing my dead, grey hair like a somber banner of sadness and misery. The trip to Northrend will be long and cold. The bulging bag of gold at my feet would likely get me killed if my fellow passengers knew of it's existence.
"Hey mon!" a suspicious looking troll strolls up to me in a conniving and seedy manner. "Ey know who ya be mah friend." He smiles at me through his glinting tusks.
"Do ya now?" I respond without looking at him, my grip tightening on my corroded maul.
"Yah mon! Everybody be knowin dah great Goregreedy. Dah best and fairest biznuss mon in all dah city of Orgrimmah. What ya be doin goin ta Warsong hold mah friend?" he replies as he leans on the rail and spits off the side. At his side I see him gripping the handle of a long, jagged dagger.
This could play in my favor. If there is anything that I am good at, besides crushing skulls, it's manipulating idiots.
"Hey, yah look like a strong Troll dats eager tah make a gold er two. Ey might have a job fer ya if yar lookin fer work." I say with an equally seedy smile.
The troll says nothing, he just smiles and shows me the jeweled hilt of his still sheathed blade.
"Ey gots won hundert gold coin if ya keep..."
Suddenly there is a shout of alarm, I turn just in time to see a large brown raven divebomb the deck, then in an instant, in mid air, it fluidly changes shape into a hulking black bear. I don't even have enough time to react before the snarling beast slams into me. Pain rips through my body as his claws and teeth sink into my flesh.
"RRRRAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWRRRRR!!!!!" the raging bear roars as his slobber and my icy blood sprays across the deck.
Suddenly, the bear once again shifts his shape and turns into the massive form of the Tauren claiming to be Calmfury. He lunges forward and clamps his meaty fingers around my throat.
Fear clouds my mind as I stumble backwards against the railing, fumbling clumsily for my maul. He leans on me hard as my throat begins to be crushed in his hands.
"I come to you bringing death!! Your master has forsaken you Goregreedy. You are a murdering, heartless bastard and I will see that you suffer, as my daughter suffered!!"
As I try hard to gasp for breath, I grope desperately for my maul. Behind me I hear the railing groan and crack under our weight. Finally, my hand finds a the leather loop that serves as my lanyard on my hammer. With all of my might I swing the loop hard over my head towards my attacker. As my vision darkens I hear the rewarding thump of something heavy slamming it into the side of the tauren's head. To my relief, he stumbles backwards, releasing my his hold on my neck.
My vision returns as I gasp for breath. Then, to my horror I hear the unmistakable the sounds of coins raining across the deck of the zepplin. Instead of my maul, I grabbed the loop of my backpack full of gold. I watch helplessly as my fellow travelers, the two orc guardsmen, the goblin crewmen, even my troll hireling begin to scramble greedily for the rain of precious coin.
Calmfury once again lunges forward at me, slamming me into the railing. I try hard to beat him back, but he pummels me hard with his bare fists. I am nearly helpless, and no one is cogniscent enough to stop him.
Suddenly, the railing gives way behind me and I tumble backwards over the side of the ship. In desperation I grab and find a dangling rope to stop my fall. Far below me I can see the red rocks of Durotar, shimmering in the silvery light of the moon.
"You bloated sack of filth. You and your kind are not worthy of existence." the Tauren says, standing on the deck above me, as he picks up my maul. "It is my pleasure to send you to hell."
"Yah got ta believe meh!! She ask'd me ta teech 'er to fight. She wunted tah be in da areena!" I scream
"She was an innocent child!! You tried to make her like you!!" he bellows as he lifts the maul high into the air. "Now Goregreedy, your lies will die with you!!"
I watch in slow motion as he swings my corroded, gore encrusted maul downward. In his eyes I see a burning hatred, and in my heart I finally feel a sense of grief. The maul slams into my head, cracking my skull, and shattering my polished tusks. My head swims for an instant, long enough to make me let go of the rope. As I begin my long journey down to the earth I watch as Calmfury leaps off the zepplin, and shifts into a large brown raven.
As I plummet helplessly to my second death, I can't help but think that life has unnecessarily been cruel to me. Of course, for that matter I have been quite merciless to everyone I dealt with, even my wife and child. Even though I am innocent in what I did to her, I am guilty of many other crimes. It's just too bad I can't die on my feet in....
Whump!!
-----------------------------------------------------
I'm not sure how long I laid there on that jagged rock next to the seashore. But, I was finally awakened by the feeling of someone tying a rope around my legs. Looking up, I see my own ribs protruding out of my chest, my blood and guts are splattered all around me, and at my feet there stands that dreaded Tauren, tying a makeshift vine around my legs.
"Yoor tyin me up?!?" I say weakly as I once again look into his angry eyes.
He glares at me for a moment before smiling broadly.
"I never thought after that fall you'd still be alive!" he laughs mockingly at me. "I guess being a Deathknight is both a blessing and a curse."
"Ugh!" I choke on foamy blood. "Ya beat meh Calmfury.. just finish meh and be dun wit it"
He smiles broadly at me before turning serious once again. That baleful look of hatred burning in his eyes as he ties the other end of the rope around his own shoulders.
"No way old friend! Time is short, your daughter's funeral awaits, and it's a long run to Mulgore."
Suddenly he shifts forms to a bear, the vine still tied around him. Turning he begins to run and I am cruelly yanked off the rocks with my entrails dragging behind me.
Such is the end of Goregreedy the Merciless, Veteran of the Third war, redeemed servant of the Lich King, and murder of women and children.
It is no surprise really. I did not grieve for my wife after I put an axe in her skull. The day after I returned from my captivity with the Lich King, she presented me our baby daughter, that was born in my absence, and when I could not show her affection, Morgilla rejected me. It is wrong to believe that a Death Knight cannot feel emotion. Actually, we feel the emotion of rage quite strongly.
So here I am, on the deck of this flying junkyard the Goblins call a zepplin, watching the darkened hills of Durotar pass below me. The cold wind blowing my dead, grey hair like a somber banner of sadness and misery. The trip to Northrend will be long and cold. The bulging bag of gold at my feet would likely get me killed if my fellow passengers knew of it's existence.
"Hey mon!" a suspicious looking troll strolls up to me in a conniving and seedy manner. "Ey know who ya be mah friend." He smiles at me through his glinting tusks.
"Do ya now?" I respond without looking at him, my grip tightening on my corroded maul.
"Yah mon! Everybody be knowin dah great Goregreedy. Dah best and fairest biznuss mon in all dah city of Orgrimmah. What ya be doin goin ta Warsong hold mah friend?" he replies as he leans on the rail and spits off the side. At his side I see him gripping the handle of a long, jagged dagger.
This could play in my favor. If there is anything that I am good at, besides crushing skulls, it's manipulating idiots.
"Hey, yah look like a strong Troll dats eager tah make a gold er two. Ey might have a job fer ya if yar lookin fer work." I say with an equally seedy smile.
The troll says nothing, he just smiles and shows me the jeweled hilt of his still sheathed blade.
"Ey gots won hundert gold coin if ya keep..."
Suddenly there is a shout of alarm, I turn just in time to see a large brown raven divebomb the deck, then in an instant, in mid air, it fluidly changes shape into a hulking black bear. I don't even have enough time to react before the snarling beast slams into me. Pain rips through my body as his claws and teeth sink into my flesh.
"RRRRAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWRRRRR!!!!!" the raging bear roars as his slobber and my icy blood sprays across the deck.
Suddenly, the bear once again shifts his shape and turns into the massive form of the Tauren claiming to be Calmfury. He lunges forward and clamps his meaty fingers around my throat.
Fear clouds my mind as I stumble backwards against the railing, fumbling clumsily for my maul. He leans on me hard as my throat begins to be crushed in his hands.
"I come to you bringing death!! Your master has forsaken you Goregreedy. You are a murdering, heartless bastard and I will see that you suffer, as my daughter suffered!!"
As I try hard to gasp for breath, I grope desperately for my maul. Behind me I hear the railing groan and crack under our weight. Finally, my hand finds a the leather loop that serves as my lanyard on my hammer. With all of my might I swing the loop hard over my head towards my attacker. As my vision darkens I hear the rewarding thump of something heavy slamming it into the side of the tauren's head. To my relief, he stumbles backwards, releasing my his hold on my neck.
My vision returns as I gasp for breath. Then, to my horror I hear the unmistakable the sounds of coins raining across the deck of the zepplin. Instead of my maul, I grabbed the loop of my backpack full of gold. I watch helplessly as my fellow travelers, the two orc guardsmen, the goblin crewmen, even my troll hireling begin to scramble greedily for the rain of precious coin.
Calmfury once again lunges forward at me, slamming me into the railing. I try hard to beat him back, but he pummels me hard with his bare fists. I am nearly helpless, and no one is cogniscent enough to stop him.
Suddenly, the railing gives way behind me and I tumble backwards over the side of the ship. In desperation I grab and find a dangling rope to stop my fall. Far below me I can see the red rocks of Durotar, shimmering in the silvery light of the moon.
"You bloated sack of filth. You and your kind are not worthy of existence." the Tauren says, standing on the deck above me, as he picks up my maul. "It is my pleasure to send you to hell."
"Yah got ta believe meh!! She ask'd me ta teech 'er to fight. She wunted tah be in da areena!" I scream
"She was an innocent child!! You tried to make her like you!!" he bellows as he lifts the maul high into the air. "Now Goregreedy, your lies will die with you!!"
I watch in slow motion as he swings my corroded, gore encrusted maul downward. In his eyes I see a burning hatred, and in my heart I finally feel a sense of grief. The maul slams into my head, cracking my skull, and shattering my polished tusks. My head swims for an instant, long enough to make me let go of the rope. As I begin my long journey down to the earth I watch as Calmfury leaps off the zepplin, and shifts into a large brown raven.
As I plummet helplessly to my second death, I can't help but think that life has unnecessarily been cruel to me. Of course, for that matter I have been quite merciless to everyone I dealt with, even my wife and child. Even though I am innocent in what I did to her, I am guilty of many other crimes. It's just too bad I can't die on my feet in....
Whump!!
-----------------------------------------------------
I'm not sure how long I laid there on that jagged rock next to the seashore. But, I was finally awakened by the feeling of someone tying a rope around my legs. Looking up, I see my own ribs protruding out of my chest, my blood and guts are splattered all around me, and at my feet there stands that dreaded Tauren, tying a makeshift vine around my legs.
"Yoor tyin me up?!?" I say weakly as I once again look into his angry eyes.
He glares at me for a moment before smiling broadly.
"I never thought after that fall you'd still be alive!" he laughs mockingly at me. "I guess being a Deathknight is both a blessing and a curse."
"Ugh!" I choke on foamy blood. "Ya beat meh Calmfury.. just finish meh and be dun wit it"
He smiles broadly at me before turning serious once again. That baleful look of hatred burning in his eyes as he ties the other end of the rope around his own shoulders.
"No way old friend! Time is short, your daughter's funeral awaits, and it's a long run to Mulgore."
Suddenly he shifts forms to a bear, the vine still tied around him. Turning he begins to run and I am cruelly yanked off the rocks with my entrails dragging behind me.
Such is the end of Goregreedy the Merciless, Veteran of the Third war, redeemed servant of the Lich King, and murder of women and children.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
pt 45 Allegations of blame
"Form up ye lazy peons!!" Urtok, Sergeant of the Kor'kron guards brings his squad of elite warriors to attention. The scarred and battle hardened veteran of a thousand wars grins proudly to himself through his glistening tusks. His company is the best that the Horde has to offer, and his Warchief knows it.
Before him the sounds of battle and screams of anguish have subsided from within the confines of the Arena. Bloodied survivors still amble forth from the doorway like a macabre parade of gore and carnage. Shell shocked survivors with massive claw marks, and limbs that have been ripped from their bodies. The veteran sergeant has seen it before, there is no doubt in his mind that a demon lord is now waiting for them within the walls of the sacred fighting arena.
"Sargint, whadda ya suppose is in dere?" one of the warriors says with a growl.
Looking back with a toothy grin across his face, the sergent replies with a chuckle "Whuteva it is, we er gonna send it back to da hell eet came frum."
Urtok gazes once more at the ghostly arena before him, and with grim determination on his face he orders his company forward. A wall of green flesh and glinting iron marches up the slope and into the bloody arena, stepping on corpses and entrails as the push their way into the darkness. The Sergeant looks up to the dark, night time sky just in time to see the silhouette of a large bird fly in front of the face of the moon. The crows must be hungry, he thinks to himself, if they are gathering so soon for the feast.
As they enter the vast confines of the colliseum the groans and sobs of the dying rise in a morbid crescendo. Bodies lay strewn about the building like bloody puppets tossed by a careless child.
To their relief, there is no sign of a demon lord, or even who might have carried out this hellish massacre.
"Kor'kron, moov out!! Serch dah buildin. Bring meh any servivers!!" Urtok shouts with authority.
The stalwart band of Orc guardsmen begin to fan out through the arena in almost drilled precision. Their warrior focus and attention drawn like the razors edge of their battle axes.
"Urtok, eet don't smell like ah Doomlord has ben in ere" the corporal of the company says as he sniffs the air like a wolf "All ey smell is dah blood."
"Yar!" Urtok replies "Be on yer guard corporal. Dey is full of tricks"
A warrior shouts from the far end of the arena, startling every one of the guardsmen. "Sergent!! Ey found somewon dat isn't urt er dead!!"
The hulking sergeant strides quicking down the bloody rows of seats, stepping on bodies and entrails as he goes. There in the center of the arena he sees her. A tauren woman stands holding a dead child. Though she seems to be splattered with blood and gore, she is untouched.
"Whut happened ere woman!! Tell meh quickly so dat we can find da monster!!" Urtok barks out to the tauren.
Charibdys raises her head slowly and glares at the Orc with hatred and disgust in her tear filled eyes. "You are the monster." she whispers through bared teeth.
Looking up past the sergeant to the entryway she sees the mighty Warchief Thrall and his assorted advisors enter the building with their weapons at the ready.
"You!!" she shouts as she points to Thrall. "You are the monster! You let this happen. What kind of Warchief allows the children of his people be used in this way!!"
The sergeant springs forward to tackle the hysterical woman. No one speaks to his Warchief in such a fashion. As he does, a massive wave of water seems to come from out of nowhere, knocking Urtok as his guards backwards. The wave washes over the blood soaked benches of the arena, causing a torrent of slippery entrails and bodies to pour back downward like a morbid log jam.
Suddenly Charibdys turns into a large brown crow, and grabs the corpse of the child in her steely talons. As the guardsman rush forward again, she leaps into the air and flies out the open ceiling of the arena.
"What is she talking about?" Thrall says in astonishment.
The bewildered guards and advisors stand in stunned silence, pondering the scene they just witnessed.
"Uh, Warchief..." Eitrigg says cautiously as he looks at his horrified brother. "I think I might be able to shed some light on this."
Thrall looks at his trusted advisor in bewilderment
"Kor'kron!!" Thrall shouts "Close the gates, lock down the city. No one is to leave. Send word to Hamuul, find out who that druid was. Summon my advisors and aids. I want speak to them immediately!!"
Thrall turn to Eitrigg with a growl "You have some explaining, old friend." he says as he turns and strides out of the arena.
Down on the arena floor Urtok looks in disgust at his so called elite guardsmen.
"Move yer tails ya snivling peons!! You heard the warchief!!" he barks.
With determined precision they move out to alert the rest of the city, and carry out Thrall's orders.
"hehe So sarge, dat lady druid did ah numba on you. I nevah saw ya knock'd off yer feet ba'fore. Har har har!" the brutish corporal says with a toothy grin.
The dripping Sergeant turns and glares at his subordinate, before smiling through his glimmering tusks.
"Corp'rol, you find sum peons and git dis mess cleaned up!" he growls and he turns and heads towards the door.
Off in the distance a lonely signal can be heard. It is the sign that the zepplin to Northrend is loaded, and about to depart into the cold night sky.
Before him the sounds of battle and screams of anguish have subsided from within the confines of the Arena. Bloodied survivors still amble forth from the doorway like a macabre parade of gore and carnage. Shell shocked survivors with massive claw marks, and limbs that have been ripped from their bodies. The veteran sergeant has seen it before, there is no doubt in his mind that a demon lord is now waiting for them within the walls of the sacred fighting arena.
"Sargint, whadda ya suppose is in dere?" one of the warriors says with a growl.
Looking back with a toothy grin across his face, the sergent replies with a chuckle "Whuteva it is, we er gonna send it back to da hell eet came frum."
Urtok gazes once more at the ghostly arena before him, and with grim determination on his face he orders his company forward. A wall of green flesh and glinting iron marches up the slope and into the bloody arena, stepping on corpses and entrails as the push their way into the darkness. The Sergeant looks up to the dark, night time sky just in time to see the silhouette of a large bird fly in front of the face of the moon. The crows must be hungry, he thinks to himself, if they are gathering so soon for the feast.
As they enter the vast confines of the colliseum the groans and sobs of the dying rise in a morbid crescendo. Bodies lay strewn about the building like bloody puppets tossed by a careless child.
To their relief, there is no sign of a demon lord, or even who might have carried out this hellish massacre.
"Kor'kron, moov out!! Serch dah buildin. Bring meh any servivers!!" Urtok shouts with authority.
The stalwart band of Orc guardsmen begin to fan out through the arena in almost drilled precision. Their warrior focus and attention drawn like the razors edge of their battle axes.
"Urtok, eet don't smell like ah Doomlord has ben in ere" the corporal of the company says as he sniffs the air like a wolf "All ey smell is dah blood."
"Yar!" Urtok replies "Be on yer guard corporal. Dey is full of tricks"
A warrior shouts from the far end of the arena, startling every one of the guardsmen. "Sergent!! Ey found somewon dat isn't urt er dead!!"
The hulking sergeant strides quicking down the bloody rows of seats, stepping on bodies and entrails as he goes. There in the center of the arena he sees her. A tauren woman stands holding a dead child. Though she seems to be splattered with blood and gore, she is untouched.
"Whut happened ere woman!! Tell meh quickly so dat we can find da monster!!" Urtok barks out to the tauren.
Charibdys raises her head slowly and glares at the Orc with hatred and disgust in her tear filled eyes. "You are the monster." she whispers through bared teeth.
Looking up past the sergeant to the entryway she sees the mighty Warchief Thrall and his assorted advisors enter the building with their weapons at the ready.
"You!!" she shouts as she points to Thrall. "You are the monster! You let this happen. What kind of Warchief allows the children of his people be used in this way!!"
The sergeant springs forward to tackle the hysterical woman. No one speaks to his Warchief in such a fashion. As he does, a massive wave of water seems to come from out of nowhere, knocking Urtok as his guards backwards. The wave washes over the blood soaked benches of the arena, causing a torrent of slippery entrails and bodies to pour back downward like a morbid log jam.
Suddenly Charibdys turns into a large brown crow, and grabs the corpse of the child in her steely talons. As the guardsman rush forward again, she leaps into the air and flies out the open ceiling of the arena.
"What is she talking about?" Thrall says in astonishment.
The bewildered guards and advisors stand in stunned silence, pondering the scene they just witnessed.
"Uh, Warchief..." Eitrigg says cautiously as he looks at his horrified brother. "I think I might be able to shed some light on this."
Thrall looks at his trusted advisor in bewilderment
"Kor'kron!!" Thrall shouts "Close the gates, lock down the city. No one is to leave. Send word to Hamuul, find out who that druid was. Summon my advisors and aids. I want speak to them immediately!!"
Thrall turn to Eitrigg with a growl "You have some explaining, old friend." he says as he turns and strides out of the arena.
Down on the arena floor Urtok looks in disgust at his so called elite guardsmen.
"Move yer tails ya snivling peons!! You heard the warchief!!" he barks.
With determined precision they move out to alert the rest of the city, and carry out Thrall's orders.
"hehe So sarge, dat lady druid did ah numba on you. I nevah saw ya knock'd off yer feet ba'fore. Har har har!" the brutish corporal says with a toothy grin.
The dripping Sergeant turns and glares at his subordinate, before smiling through his glimmering tusks.
"Corp'rol, you find sum peons and git dis mess cleaned up!" he growls and he turns and heads towards the door.
Off in the distance a lonely signal can be heard. It is the sign that the zepplin to Northrend is loaded, and about to depart into the cold night sky.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Pt 44 The Escape
The Tauren brute drops me into my chair at the edge of the arena, and dives headlong into the bloodstained sandy ring below. He claims to be my old friend Calmfury, but looks nothing like him. Meanwhile, the crowd begins to voice their displeasure at the interruption of tonights spectacle, as this Tauren imposter kneels down at the body of my dead daughter. His sobs can be heard over the hissing audience.
I was told by Slasherjoe that Calmfury had died at the hands of Garrosh several months ago. In my own way I mourned my friend, afterall he adopted my daughter from the orphanage and raised her as his own. He kept my secret safe and allowed me to watch her from afar. When Calmfury was killed, Slasherjoe brought Meekha to me and told me the news, I was furious. She should have gone back to the orphanage, but he had already told her who I was. There is no way I would have her growing up to hate me, the wrath of an Orc woman is at best a death sentence.
I don't know if, or even how this imposter can be Calmfury, somehow brought back to life, but I dont intend to stick around to see how this ends. As the crowd pushes to the edge of the arena, I grab my bulging leather bag, and my trusty maul and quickly begin to push my way towards the exit.
I am well known and well liked here by everyone. I have been generous and forgiving of those who have lost bets that they couldn't cover. Out of respect and possibly fear, the spectators part and allow me easy access to the door. My best bet is to get out of Orgrimmar and catch the zepplin to Warsong Hold in Outland. It is near my time to report to Garrosh and to bring him the gold we have made from the arena.
"Charibdys!!!" the imposter in the arena screams above the roar of the enraged audience "Come quickly!!!"
With frenzied determination I finally push my way out of the arena and into the cool evening, there standing before me is Squish and her cronies, as if they are guarding the door.
"Why look what we have here. It's the old disease bag himself. I'm guessing that Calmfury found you?" Squish says with her usual sneer.
I look hard at her as I focus my magic and summon my deathcharger into existence.
"Dat eemposter ees not Calmfury, he died remembah?!?" I growl furiously as I sling my pack over the undead mount.
"Well, you know we can't let you leave so quickly Goregreedy" Squish says "We have to get this little misunderstanding with Calmfury's gruntling squared away."
"Speekin of dat Gore, weere is Meekha? Why are you leavin witout her?" Slasherjoe says as he steps out from behind Squish's mob.
"RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!"
An unearthly and terrifying roar shakes the walls of the massive colliseum and echos across the sandstone walls of the valleys beyond.
Squish and her band suddenly spring to attention, drawing their weapons and preparing to defend against whatever it is that is now rampaging through the inside of the arena.
I waste no time, taking advantage of the distraction, I jump on my deathcharger and spur the beast forward, towards the gates leaving the Valley of Honor. Behind me I can hear the muffled screams of the stampeding crowd, All trying to escape the massive building that has somehow become their tomb.
How is this even possible? For the first time in an age, terror fills my heart. Perhaps that Tauren was Calmfury and he somehow came back to life with the help of a Dreadlord of the Legion. Only a demon of that caliber could make such a horrible howl, drive fear in the hearts of veteran warriors, and slaughter them so easily. I know, I fought the Legion on Mount Hyjal.
My deathcharger pushes relentlessly past the gate and into the drag. As I turn towards the Valley of Strength and the front gates of Orgrimmar, I see the mighty warchief Thrall and his Kor'kron guards coming from Grommash Hold in the Valley of Wisdom. Apparently, they heard the roar and are going to face whatever it is that made it. Good, let them deal with the horror that is tearing up their precious city.
I spur my mount harder as I tear into the Valley of Strength towards the front gate. A growing crowd of the usual rabble that do business in the Auction house begin to swarm past me back towards the arena. No doubt they heard the commotion and want to check it out.
Hot wind and sand assaults my face as I pass through the outer gate and into the majestic desert of Durotar beyond. There outside the walls of Orgrimmar is the zepplin tower. I am fortunate because the massive airship is docked at the moment and loading supplies for its long voyage back to the Borean Tundra to Garrosh's fortress.
At the base of the tower I slide off my deathcharger, and dismiss the ghostly beast. Hoisting the heavy bag of gold over my shoulder, I make the long climb up the tower and stride onto the deck of the goblin zepplin. The little green bastards pay me little notice as I sit down at the edge of the ship and look out across the evening sky of Azeroth. Off in the distance I can see the faint glow of a fire from the center of Orgrimmar.
Soon, it will all be behind me.
I was told by Slasherjoe that Calmfury had died at the hands of Garrosh several months ago. In my own way I mourned my friend, afterall he adopted my daughter from the orphanage and raised her as his own. He kept my secret safe and allowed me to watch her from afar. When Calmfury was killed, Slasherjoe brought Meekha to me and told me the news, I was furious. She should have gone back to the orphanage, but he had already told her who I was. There is no way I would have her growing up to hate me, the wrath of an Orc woman is at best a death sentence.
I don't know if, or even how this imposter can be Calmfury, somehow brought back to life, but I dont intend to stick around to see how this ends. As the crowd pushes to the edge of the arena, I grab my bulging leather bag, and my trusty maul and quickly begin to push my way towards the exit.
I am well known and well liked here by everyone. I have been generous and forgiving of those who have lost bets that they couldn't cover. Out of respect and possibly fear, the spectators part and allow me easy access to the door. My best bet is to get out of Orgrimmar and catch the zepplin to Warsong Hold in Outland. It is near my time to report to Garrosh and to bring him the gold we have made from the arena.
"Charibdys!!!" the imposter in the arena screams above the roar of the enraged audience "Come quickly!!!"
With frenzied determination I finally push my way out of the arena and into the cool evening, there standing before me is Squish and her cronies, as if they are guarding the door.
"Why look what we have here. It's the old disease bag himself. I'm guessing that Calmfury found you?" Squish says with her usual sneer.
I look hard at her as I focus my magic and summon my deathcharger into existence.
"Dat eemposter ees not Calmfury, he died remembah?!?" I growl furiously as I sling my pack over the undead mount.
"Well, you know we can't let you leave so quickly Goregreedy" Squish says "We have to get this little misunderstanding with Calmfury's gruntling squared away."
"Speekin of dat Gore, weere is Meekha? Why are you leavin witout her?" Slasherjoe says as he steps out from behind Squish's mob.
"RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!"
An unearthly and terrifying roar shakes the walls of the massive colliseum and echos across the sandstone walls of the valleys beyond.
Squish and her band suddenly spring to attention, drawing their weapons and preparing to defend against whatever it is that is now rampaging through the inside of the arena.
I waste no time, taking advantage of the distraction, I jump on my deathcharger and spur the beast forward, towards the gates leaving the Valley of Honor. Behind me I can hear the muffled screams of the stampeding crowd, All trying to escape the massive building that has somehow become their tomb.
How is this even possible? For the first time in an age, terror fills my heart. Perhaps that Tauren was Calmfury and he somehow came back to life with the help of a Dreadlord of the Legion. Only a demon of that caliber could make such a horrible howl, drive fear in the hearts of veteran warriors, and slaughter them so easily. I know, I fought the Legion on Mount Hyjal.
My deathcharger pushes relentlessly past the gate and into the drag. As I turn towards the Valley of Strength and the front gates of Orgrimmar, I see the mighty warchief Thrall and his Kor'kron guards coming from Grommash Hold in the Valley of Wisdom. Apparently, they heard the roar and are going to face whatever it is that made it. Good, let them deal with the horror that is tearing up their precious city.
I spur my mount harder as I tear into the Valley of Strength towards the front gate. A growing crowd of the usual rabble that do business in the Auction house begin to swarm past me back towards the arena. No doubt they heard the commotion and want to check it out.
Hot wind and sand assaults my face as I pass through the outer gate and into the majestic desert of Durotar beyond. There outside the walls of Orgrimmar is the zepplin tower. I am fortunate because the massive airship is docked at the moment and loading supplies for its long voyage back to the Borean Tundra to Garrosh's fortress.
At the base of the tower I slide off my deathcharger, and dismiss the ghostly beast. Hoisting the heavy bag of gold over my shoulder, I make the long climb up the tower and stride onto the deck of the goblin zepplin. The little green bastards pay me little notice as I sit down at the edge of the ship and look out across the evening sky of Azeroth. Off in the distance I can see the faint glow of a fire from the center of Orgrimmar.
Soon, it will all be behind me.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Pt 43 Where the beast dwells
The fetid stink of the electrified mob was nearly unbearable. Within the dark confines of the massive arena lurked a press of Orcs, Trolls, Blood elves, and at least a few humans along with a stunted dwarf. All of them carousing, laughing, shouting and cheering at the bloody spectacle in the ring below.
I glance down in the ring and see what appears to be three skinny gnomes swirling and fighting. They look like comical children dressed as gladiators. One even fights with makeshift claws and is dressed as a lion. What a pathetic sight.
My task this night, as I fight to make my way through this bloodthirsty crowd, is to find the Deathknight known as Goregreedy. Squish said he was the one looking after little Meekha, which of course disturbs me greatly, even though he is her father, he has the cold heart of the Deathknight. He would never know how to take care of her or even how to love her. With any luck I can find her and take her to Thunder Bluff. I believe I can get Hamuul to teach her to be a druid. My dream is that she will be the first Orc to join the Order, and that she can fill the place that I cannot.
Through the roaring crowd I finally see him. Goregreedy has turned into a bloated, and disgusting shadow of his former self. He sits at the edge of the area on a throne of sorts. Around him are various servants and slave girls offering him food, drink, and false adoration. It seems that he has somehow gotten quite rich, perhaps betting on this circus they call a gladiatorial arena.
I anxiously press on with a renewed strength of purpose. I am so close to finding my adopted daughter, to see the look on her face when she realizes I am alive. I realize now that all things, even my burning hatred of Garrosh, are unimportant next to the need to find her.
"Aye!! Watch weer yer goin Mon!!" I knock aside a troll who then turns around and douses me with a sour smelling beer. I stare him in the face for a moment before the crowd suddenly explodes in a roaring cheer. We both look down into the arena and watch as the gnome dressed as a lion jumps on top of one of the other gladiators and begins disemboweling him with those nasty makeshift claws. Turning away, I take the opportunity to press forward to the edge of the arena where I can get to Goregreedy.
As I approach, my anger begins to stir, it quickly washes away any fear or apprehension. Without even thinking, I knock aside one of the serving wenches and grab the bloated and disgusting Orc by his stained tunic. His head snaps to look at me, and I see a mixture of fear and anger in his milky, pus filled eyes.
"Where is Meekha!?!" I say through gritted teeth.
He glares at me for a moment. I can smell his rotten breath as he gasps for air.
"Who dah hell do yah tink you are Toureen?!? Git yer filty hands off me!!" he says as I watch his hand reach frantically for his corroded maul sitting nearby.
I strain to lift his festering, bloated body up from his chair and away from his cursed weapon.
"I am Calmfury you puke! I have come back from the dead to get my daughter, and I am told you have her!!"
He stares at me in disbelief before stammering a in response.
"She's mah dawter." he says meekly "Ey am er Fodder."
"We had a deal Goregreedy! I watched over her and you stayed away. You lost the right to call her your child when you killed her mother in cold blood." I hiss
I see in his eyes the full realization that I am indeed Calmfury. We stare at one another for a moment. He will tell me where Meekha is or he will die.
Suddenly, the crowd explodes once again in a cheering roar. Goregeedy turns towards the arena floor and gasps as his mouth falls open in disbelief.
"Meekha!" he says in his phlegm filled voice "I am ruined!!"
I turn to the fight below to see the gnome dressed as a lion impaled on a spear. Over him stands the victor with his hands in the air. He reaches up and yanks off his helmet. Instead of a skinny, wirey gnome I see the face of a starving and scarred Orc child. He roars back at the crowd in triumph.
A voice suddenly booms over the crowd. "Korlong is victorius!! Dah long, bloody reign of dah Lioness of Duratar is over!!" The crowd roars even louder as I see people dancing in the stands. They begin to press towards us with greed in their eyes. "Meekha the Savage is slain!!" the announcer finally says.
My heart begins to pound furiously in my chest as I drop Goregreedy back into his chair and look at the arena below us. Tears well in my eyes, and flow like rivers down my cheeks. The skinny gnome dressed as a lion lays still on the sandy floor with a spear jutting from her chest.
I leap down into the arena, and knock aside the little orc boy still parading around the floor. The crowd suddenly turns and I feel all eyes upon me as I approach her bloody form. Her arms and legs are covered with scars and open wounds. Her delicate green flesh is bruised and battered.
With shaking limbs I kneel next to her and gently remove her helmet. Hoping beyond all hope it is not her. But, with an anguish I have never felt before I look at her face and into her innocent eyes and I see that it is indeed my little Meekha.
"Meekha... I am so sorry I could not get here sooner." I say with a pathetic sob.
She looks up at me weakly as blood runs out of her mouth. I can see the wretched pain in her eyes. She takes a moment to focus.
"Who are you?" she manages to say
She is still alive! I can still save her!!
"Charibdys!!!" I roar at the top of my lungs hoping that she can hear me above the crowd. If there is anyone here that can heal Meekha is it her. "Come quickly!!!"
"Master?!?" Meekha says weakly. "Is that you?"
"Yes my child it is me. I have come back from the dead to find you. I have come to save you and take you far away from this place." I say with hopeless determination
"Charibdys!!!" I shout even louder.
Through the roar of the bloodthirsty crowd I hear her. "Calmfury!! I am coming" she yells as she fights to make her way through the mass of spectators.
I look up to find her just in time to have a half filled tankard of ale hit me in the face. Above me the crowd has turned angry, shouting obscenities and curses at me. Their leering and twisted faces staring at me as they begin to throw food, cups and anything else they can find.
My anger begins to boil and seethe within me. It is matched only by my anguish.
"Master" Meekha says in her pathetic voice as I turn and try to shield her with my body. "I am sorry I could not.." she gasps a bit for air as she coughs up a wad of foamy blood. "I wanted to learn to fight to avenge your death. I am sorry I disappointed you."
As I look into her darkening eyes I feel a bottomless swell of anguish and helplessness.
"Meekha, I swear to you. That I will not rest until the blood of Garrosh and the blood of Goregreedy is spilled. Their bodies will be broken and their hearts ripped from their chest. They will know no rest or peace while I still live. Even if it takes me a thousand lifetimes."
Her eyes go dark as I watch the last bit of life drain away. Charibdys lands hard on the sandy floor and runs to my side. She grabs the body of Meekha and begins to focus her healing magic. But, I know it is too late.
As I slowly stand I feel my muscles tense up and grim determination comes over me. They will all pay for what they did. Not a single one of them who felt joy at her death will leave this place.
Then, it comes. I suddenly feel a burning presence glaring at me from behind, a presence I have not felt for a long time. I slowly turn around, as debris is still being thrown at me, and there before me on the arena floor stands a ghostly black wolf. His oily fur bristling, and his slobbering maw hanging open like the gates of hell.
"Diogenes, my foolish love. Did you really think you could hide from me forever? You eluded me well this time, but your anger always brings me back, and this time, I will not let you leave me." the vicious ghostwolf says in a booming whisper to my mind.
As I stare at the apparition for a moment everything seems to go quiet. Time slows down as I come to the full realization of this horrid fate. They all said I was out of balance, and they were all right. I am not really a druid, but an avatar of sorts. An engine of immortal destruction. The incarnation of fury.
"Charibdys" I say slowly. "take Meekhas body to Mulgore and prepare a funeral pyre. I will meet you there in two days time."
She looks up at me in astonishment. "Calmfury, what are you going to do?"
Ignoring her I turn once again to the wolf. "Come to me worgen, come and let us cleanse the filth of this place."
With fluid grace I shift into a lion and leap up to the edge of the arena. The crowd parts from my hulking form as I glare at them with burning hatred. Then, I feel a hotness pour through my body and my bones begin to crack. I feel myself swell and grow larger as my muscles expand and my claws grow into vicious sabers. Instead of just a lion, I am become something else. I stand in full glory before their terror filled faces.
"It is through you Diogenes that I shall wield a greater power. Together we will crush our enemies!" the ghostly voice says in my mind.
"I will kill every last one of you!!" I manage to roar as the crowd begins to panic, and frantically tries scampers away.
"RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!"
My horrific roar echoes through the canyons of Orgrimmar, shaking the sandstone walls of the valleys beyond.
I glance down in the ring and see what appears to be three skinny gnomes swirling and fighting. They look like comical children dressed as gladiators. One even fights with makeshift claws and is dressed as a lion. What a pathetic sight.
My task this night, as I fight to make my way through this bloodthirsty crowd, is to find the Deathknight known as Goregreedy. Squish said he was the one looking after little Meekha, which of course disturbs me greatly, even though he is her father, he has the cold heart of the Deathknight. He would never know how to take care of her or even how to love her. With any luck I can find her and take her to Thunder Bluff. I believe I can get Hamuul to teach her to be a druid. My dream is that she will be the first Orc to join the Order, and that she can fill the place that I cannot.
Through the roaring crowd I finally see him. Goregreedy has turned into a bloated, and disgusting shadow of his former self. He sits at the edge of the area on a throne of sorts. Around him are various servants and slave girls offering him food, drink, and false adoration. It seems that he has somehow gotten quite rich, perhaps betting on this circus they call a gladiatorial arena.
I anxiously press on with a renewed strength of purpose. I am so close to finding my adopted daughter, to see the look on her face when she realizes I am alive. I realize now that all things, even my burning hatred of Garrosh, are unimportant next to the need to find her.
"Aye!! Watch weer yer goin Mon!!" I knock aside a troll who then turns around and douses me with a sour smelling beer. I stare him in the face for a moment before the crowd suddenly explodes in a roaring cheer. We both look down into the arena and watch as the gnome dressed as a lion jumps on top of one of the other gladiators and begins disemboweling him with those nasty makeshift claws. Turning away, I take the opportunity to press forward to the edge of the arena where I can get to Goregreedy.
As I approach, my anger begins to stir, it quickly washes away any fear or apprehension. Without even thinking, I knock aside one of the serving wenches and grab the bloated and disgusting Orc by his stained tunic. His head snaps to look at me, and I see a mixture of fear and anger in his milky, pus filled eyes.
"Where is Meekha!?!" I say through gritted teeth.
He glares at me for a moment. I can smell his rotten breath as he gasps for air.
"Who dah hell do yah tink you are Toureen?!? Git yer filty hands off me!!" he says as I watch his hand reach frantically for his corroded maul sitting nearby.
I strain to lift his festering, bloated body up from his chair and away from his cursed weapon.
"I am Calmfury you puke! I have come back from the dead to get my daughter, and I am told you have her!!"
He stares at me in disbelief before stammering a in response.
"She's mah dawter." he says meekly "Ey am er Fodder."
"We had a deal Goregreedy! I watched over her and you stayed away. You lost the right to call her your child when you killed her mother in cold blood." I hiss
I see in his eyes the full realization that I am indeed Calmfury. We stare at one another for a moment. He will tell me where Meekha is or he will die.
Suddenly, the crowd explodes once again in a cheering roar. Goregeedy turns towards the arena floor and gasps as his mouth falls open in disbelief.
"Meekha!" he says in his phlegm filled voice "I am ruined!!"
I turn to the fight below to see the gnome dressed as a lion impaled on a spear. Over him stands the victor with his hands in the air. He reaches up and yanks off his helmet. Instead of a skinny, wirey gnome I see the face of a starving and scarred Orc child. He roars back at the crowd in triumph.
A voice suddenly booms over the crowd. "Korlong is victorius!! Dah long, bloody reign of dah Lioness of Duratar is over!!" The crowd roars even louder as I see people dancing in the stands. They begin to press towards us with greed in their eyes. "Meekha the Savage is slain!!" the announcer finally says.
My heart begins to pound furiously in my chest as I drop Goregreedy back into his chair and look at the arena below us. Tears well in my eyes, and flow like rivers down my cheeks. The skinny gnome dressed as a lion lays still on the sandy floor with a spear jutting from her chest.
I leap down into the arena, and knock aside the little orc boy still parading around the floor. The crowd suddenly turns and I feel all eyes upon me as I approach her bloody form. Her arms and legs are covered with scars and open wounds. Her delicate green flesh is bruised and battered.
With shaking limbs I kneel next to her and gently remove her helmet. Hoping beyond all hope it is not her. But, with an anguish I have never felt before I look at her face and into her innocent eyes and I see that it is indeed my little Meekha.
"Meekha... I am so sorry I could not get here sooner." I say with a pathetic sob.
She looks up at me weakly as blood runs out of her mouth. I can see the wretched pain in her eyes. She takes a moment to focus.
"Who are you?" she manages to say
She is still alive! I can still save her!!
"Charibdys!!!" I roar at the top of my lungs hoping that she can hear me above the crowd. If there is anyone here that can heal Meekha is it her. "Come quickly!!!"
"Master?!?" Meekha says weakly. "Is that you?"
"Yes my child it is me. I have come back from the dead to find you. I have come to save you and take you far away from this place." I say with hopeless determination
"Charibdys!!!" I shout even louder.
Through the roar of the bloodthirsty crowd I hear her. "Calmfury!! I am coming" she yells as she fights to make her way through the mass of spectators.
I look up to find her just in time to have a half filled tankard of ale hit me in the face. Above me the crowd has turned angry, shouting obscenities and curses at me. Their leering and twisted faces staring at me as they begin to throw food, cups and anything else they can find.
My anger begins to boil and seethe within me. It is matched only by my anguish.
"Master" Meekha says in her pathetic voice as I turn and try to shield her with my body. "I am sorry I could not.." she gasps a bit for air as she coughs up a wad of foamy blood. "I wanted to learn to fight to avenge your death. I am sorry I disappointed you."
As I look into her darkening eyes I feel a bottomless swell of anguish and helplessness.
"Meekha, I swear to you. That I will not rest until the blood of Garrosh and the blood of Goregreedy is spilled. Their bodies will be broken and their hearts ripped from their chest. They will know no rest or peace while I still live. Even if it takes me a thousand lifetimes."
Her eyes go dark as I watch the last bit of life drain away. Charibdys lands hard on the sandy floor and runs to my side. She grabs the body of Meekha and begins to focus her healing magic. But, I know it is too late.
As I slowly stand I feel my muscles tense up and grim determination comes over me. They will all pay for what they did. Not a single one of them who felt joy at her death will leave this place.
Then, it comes. I suddenly feel a burning presence glaring at me from behind, a presence I have not felt for a long time. I slowly turn around, as debris is still being thrown at me, and there before me on the arena floor stands a ghostly black wolf. His oily fur bristling, and his slobbering maw hanging open like the gates of hell.
"Diogenes, my foolish love. Did you really think you could hide from me forever? You eluded me well this time, but your anger always brings me back, and this time, I will not let you leave me." the vicious ghostwolf says in a booming whisper to my mind.
As I stare at the apparition for a moment everything seems to go quiet. Time slows down as I come to the full realization of this horrid fate. They all said I was out of balance, and they were all right. I am not really a druid, but an avatar of sorts. An engine of immortal destruction. The incarnation of fury.
"Charibdys" I say slowly. "take Meekhas body to Mulgore and prepare a funeral pyre. I will meet you there in two days time."
She looks up at me in astonishment. "Calmfury, what are you going to do?"
Ignoring her I turn once again to the wolf. "Come to me worgen, come and let us cleanse the filth of this place."
With fluid grace I shift into a lion and leap up to the edge of the arena. The crowd parts from my hulking form as I glare at them with burning hatred. Then, I feel a hotness pour through my body and my bones begin to crack. I feel myself swell and grow larger as my muscles expand and my claws grow into vicious sabers. Instead of just a lion, I am become something else. I stand in full glory before their terror filled faces.
"It is through you Diogenes that I shall wield a greater power. Together we will crush our enemies!" the ghostly voice says in my mind.
"I will kill every last one of you!!" I manage to roar as the crowd begins to panic, and frantically tries scampers away.
"RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!"
My horrific roar echoes through the canyons of Orgrimmar, shaking the sandstone walls of the valleys beyond.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
pt 42 The Arena
The commotion can be heard echoing across the canyons of the Valley of Honor. In the fading light of the approaching evening, a crowd gathers at the entryway of the Ring of Valor.
Normally, the massive arena, tucked away in the north east corner of Orgrimmar, is used for the myriad of fighting events that take place from time to time. It's Arena Battlemaster, War Hunter Molog, supervises scores of fights each day by both professional gladiators, and convicted criminals. However, in the evenings a mob takes over the arena for what the authorities think are small, harmless grudge matches by restless amateurs out to prove their fighting prowess. I guess in their minds it's better to have these kind of fights in here rather than in the streets.
It has been several months since I last checked in on my old friend Goregreedy. The last time I saw him was when I reunited him with his daughter. She was so heartbroken over the death of Calmfury. After barely escaping from the Argent Tournament and the wrath of Garrosh, I tried unsuccessfully to console her. But, I am a warrior not a nursemaid and I decided it was best that she go and live with her real father in Orgrimmar.
The mob outside the arena was small compared to the mass that had congregated inside. All of them laughing and drinking heavily. The smell of sweaty flesh and booze is almost overpowering.
Being a professional gladiator myself, I am accustomed to the savage mobs at these places. I travel to fights all across Azeroth and even into Outland. However, something seems different about this group. There is an insidious electricity in the air, as if everyone is here to witness an atrocity or a crime. Such is the nature of amateur fights I suppose.
After searching for a short time I find him. Goregreedy sits in a throne-like chair at the edge of the arena. He isn't wearing his armor anymore, and for good reason, in the past few month it looks like he's gained some weight, as his bloated, boil and disease ridden belly hangs out from beneath his clothes, that are now too small for him. At his side is that same old maul he has carried around since I have known him. He is talking to a group of people, and taking small bags of what I know are coins. I have been around long enough to recognize a gambler when I see one.
It takes me a bit to press my way through the crowd towards him. As I do, I can't help but glance down at the arena. It's blood stained sand floor remains empty except for the carcass of a bright yellow scorpid. Obviously I have either missed the main attraction or just a small opening fight.
"Ey Goregreedy, yer lookin like crap as usual" I say as slap him on his stained tunic.
He quickly turns to me, and his face lights up in a big smile. "Slasherjoe!! ya durty basturd!! How dah hell are ya doing!!" He takes a moment to stand up to give me a bear hug. As usual, his smell makes me gag, but what should I expect from a deathknight.
"Whut are ya doin in Orgrimmar des days?" he says as he falls heavily back down into his chair.
"Well, I gut a messuge frum Squish. She's comin tah town and wunts to see yous right away." As I speak, a troll tries to press a bag of coins into Goregreedy's hand, only to have him waved away.
"Git away!!" Goregreedy barks. "Eym not takin eny moar bets!!"
As if by some strange sense of respect or fear, the troll turns away without an argument. Usually, a bet taker will get harassed with negotiations for better odds or a larger bet on a fight.
"Aey Gore, weer is Meekha tonight?" I ask.
The Deathknight turns back to me with an uncharacteristic twinkle in his eye and a smile across his hideous face.
"Har har har!! Sheel be here soon eynuff" he says as he picks up a haunch of meat and stuffs it into his mouth.
"So, like ey said... Squish is ere lookin fer yah, sez eets real importint. Yu know how she ees, whin she whunts sumptin she whunts eet now. Whut do you whunt me ta tell er?"
Goregreedy stares at me blankly as he chews his food with an open mouth.
Suddenly, horns blare out loudly, drawing the attention of the crowd to an announcer.
"Its time fer dah fight you savage dogs!!!" the goblin announcer shouts in a voice that seems too big for his small frame.
"Slasher!" Goregreedy say as he grabs my arm. "Dis is gunna be good. Yah not gunna believ whut we got going tunight."
I've seen every fight imaginable. They all end up the same, in a pool of blood. Fortunately, I am too good to die in such a way.
"In dis corner!! Dah twin terrers of Duratar. Gronk and Korlong!!"
Out of the shadows walk two very young orc children. They are apparently twin brothers, and they each carry a short, pathetic spear. The bloodthirsty, anxious crowd cheers in anticipation.
"Whut the hell is dis Gore?!? Des peons are too young tah fight in dah arena!!" I say as I angrily grab him by the head. As I do, a clump of his greasy hair rips off into my hand.
"Let go of meh yah stoopid git!!" he says as he tries to shove me back. "Des gruntlins are gettin dah best educatin on how tah fight!! Nun of dem is gettin kilt or nutin!!"
"Yoo mean tah tell me yah have been fightin orfaned gruntlins in dah arena?!" I say in a frothing rage through clentched teeth.
"...And in dis corner!! Dah ferocious beast herself!!" the crowd starts roaring and stomping "Dah bloodthirsty Lioness of Duratar!! Meekha the Savage!!"
Out of the shadows on the other side steps a small orcish girl. She is dressed in bits of leather and mail armor with an ornate leather helm in the shape of a lion's face covering her head. In her hands she holds a pair of barbed fighting claws. Even from here I can see that her sweaty green body is covered by numerous scars and abrasions. Her muscles are lean and wirey as if she has been training hard to for this fight.
"You wretched basturd!!" I yell as I punch Goregreedy square in the face.
The disgusting Deathknight stands up and grabs the maul at his side.
"Stop eet yah basturd dog!! Eet wus her idea. She wunted tah be a warrior!"
I stare at him for a moment in complete disbelief and disgust. I have fought all this time in the arena as a gladiator, a noble profession amongst the Orcs. I know what goes on. I can't believe that a father would let his daughter do this, even if she asked. We orcs pride ourselves as warriors, but never would we have our children fight each other for sport, not even in the darkest days on Draenor.
"Ey cant stand tah watch yah do dis to yer daughter Gore. I hope she rips yer guts out sumday." I say as I turn and press through the roaring crowd.
Somehow it feels wrong of me to just leave. The thought crosses my mind for a moment to jump in the arena and stop the fight. To take Meekha away from this place and to really teach her how to fight and be a proud orc. But, as I leave the arena I realize that this is between a father and his daughter and that I have no business getting involved. Still, the heartbreak of seeing her come to this brings a tear to my eye. I can't help but look up at the dusty evening sky and say a prayer to the ancestors to help her.
"Slasher!!"
I look down the worn street leading to the arena and I see Squish leading a small entourage towards me. All of the old faces of Bloodlust are with her, along with a few new ones.
"Did you find Goregreedy as I asked?" the Bloodelf says as she approaches.
"Yea, hees in dere." I say with my head held down as I gesture towards the arena.
"Good, you continue to serve me well orc. Stick around, I need to talk to you." Squish says as she walks past me towards the massive building.
I follow the group back up the short walk to the door.
"I'm not going in there." Squish says as she stops at the entryway. "Calmfury, your on your own. We will wait out here until your done. Make it quick!
I watch as a burly looking Tauren at her side reluctantly lumbers forward and starts wading into the mob inside.
"Wait, Squish did yous call em Calmfury?" I say with a sneer.
Squish turns to me and nods with a half grin on her face.
"Dats not funny Squish" I say as I look back up at the faint twinkle of the evening stars. "Calmfury wus mah freend, ah watch'd Garrosh hack em tah peeces."
Squish continues to smile in her arrogant, all-knowning fashion.
"I am going in with him." another tauren says, this one a woman, as she runs forward and presses into the crowd.
Squish just sighs and shakes her head. "This is going to take forever."
Normally, the massive arena, tucked away in the north east corner of Orgrimmar, is used for the myriad of fighting events that take place from time to time. It's Arena Battlemaster, War Hunter Molog, supervises scores of fights each day by both professional gladiators, and convicted criminals. However, in the evenings a mob takes over the arena for what the authorities think are small, harmless grudge matches by restless amateurs out to prove their fighting prowess. I guess in their minds it's better to have these kind of fights in here rather than in the streets.
It has been several months since I last checked in on my old friend Goregreedy. The last time I saw him was when I reunited him with his daughter. She was so heartbroken over the death of Calmfury. After barely escaping from the Argent Tournament and the wrath of Garrosh, I tried unsuccessfully to console her. But, I am a warrior not a nursemaid and I decided it was best that she go and live with her real father in Orgrimmar.
The mob outside the arena was small compared to the mass that had congregated inside. All of them laughing and drinking heavily. The smell of sweaty flesh and booze is almost overpowering.
Being a professional gladiator myself, I am accustomed to the savage mobs at these places. I travel to fights all across Azeroth and even into Outland. However, something seems different about this group. There is an insidious electricity in the air, as if everyone is here to witness an atrocity or a crime. Such is the nature of amateur fights I suppose.
After searching for a short time I find him. Goregreedy sits in a throne-like chair at the edge of the arena. He isn't wearing his armor anymore, and for good reason, in the past few month it looks like he's gained some weight, as his bloated, boil and disease ridden belly hangs out from beneath his clothes, that are now too small for him. At his side is that same old maul he has carried around since I have known him. He is talking to a group of people, and taking small bags of what I know are coins. I have been around long enough to recognize a gambler when I see one.
It takes me a bit to press my way through the crowd towards him. As I do, I can't help but glance down at the arena. It's blood stained sand floor remains empty except for the carcass of a bright yellow scorpid. Obviously I have either missed the main attraction or just a small opening fight.
"Ey Goregreedy, yer lookin like crap as usual" I say as slap him on his stained tunic.
He quickly turns to me, and his face lights up in a big smile. "Slasherjoe!! ya durty basturd!! How dah hell are ya doing!!" He takes a moment to stand up to give me a bear hug. As usual, his smell makes me gag, but what should I expect from a deathknight.
"Whut are ya doin in Orgrimmar des days?" he says as he falls heavily back down into his chair.
"Well, I gut a messuge frum Squish. She's comin tah town and wunts to see yous right away." As I speak, a troll tries to press a bag of coins into Goregreedy's hand, only to have him waved away.
"Git away!!" Goregreedy barks. "Eym not takin eny moar bets!!"
As if by some strange sense of respect or fear, the troll turns away without an argument. Usually, a bet taker will get harassed with negotiations for better odds or a larger bet on a fight.
"Aey Gore, weer is Meekha tonight?" I ask.
The Deathknight turns back to me with an uncharacteristic twinkle in his eye and a smile across his hideous face.
"Har har har!! Sheel be here soon eynuff" he says as he picks up a haunch of meat and stuffs it into his mouth.
"So, like ey said... Squish is ere lookin fer yah, sez eets real importint. Yu know how she ees, whin she whunts sumptin she whunts eet now. Whut do you whunt me ta tell er?"
Goregreedy stares at me blankly as he chews his food with an open mouth.
Suddenly, horns blare out loudly, drawing the attention of the crowd to an announcer.
"Its time fer dah fight you savage dogs!!!" the goblin announcer shouts in a voice that seems too big for his small frame.
"Slasher!" Goregreedy say as he grabs my arm. "Dis is gunna be good. Yah not gunna believ whut we got going tunight."
I've seen every fight imaginable. They all end up the same, in a pool of blood. Fortunately, I am too good to die in such a way.
"In dis corner!! Dah twin terrers of Duratar. Gronk and Korlong!!"
Out of the shadows walk two very young orc children. They are apparently twin brothers, and they each carry a short, pathetic spear. The bloodthirsty, anxious crowd cheers in anticipation.
"Whut the hell is dis Gore?!? Des peons are too young tah fight in dah arena!!" I say as I angrily grab him by the head. As I do, a clump of his greasy hair rips off into my hand.
"Let go of meh yah stoopid git!!" he says as he tries to shove me back. "Des gruntlins are gettin dah best educatin on how tah fight!! Nun of dem is gettin kilt or nutin!!"
"Yoo mean tah tell me yah have been fightin orfaned gruntlins in dah arena?!" I say in a frothing rage through clentched teeth.
"...And in dis corner!! Dah ferocious beast herself!!" the crowd starts roaring and stomping "Dah bloodthirsty Lioness of Duratar!! Meekha the Savage!!"
Out of the shadows on the other side steps a small orcish girl. She is dressed in bits of leather and mail armor with an ornate leather helm in the shape of a lion's face covering her head. In her hands she holds a pair of barbed fighting claws. Even from here I can see that her sweaty green body is covered by numerous scars and abrasions. Her muscles are lean and wirey as if she has been training hard to for this fight.
"You wretched basturd!!" I yell as I punch Goregreedy square in the face.
The disgusting Deathknight stands up and grabs the maul at his side.
"Stop eet yah basturd dog!! Eet wus her idea. She wunted tah be a warrior!"
I stare at him for a moment in complete disbelief and disgust. I have fought all this time in the arena as a gladiator, a noble profession amongst the Orcs. I know what goes on. I can't believe that a father would let his daughter do this, even if she asked. We orcs pride ourselves as warriors, but never would we have our children fight each other for sport, not even in the darkest days on Draenor.
"Ey cant stand tah watch yah do dis to yer daughter Gore. I hope she rips yer guts out sumday." I say as I turn and press through the roaring crowd.
Somehow it feels wrong of me to just leave. The thought crosses my mind for a moment to jump in the arena and stop the fight. To take Meekha away from this place and to really teach her how to fight and be a proud orc. But, as I leave the arena I realize that this is between a father and his daughter and that I have no business getting involved. Still, the heartbreak of seeing her come to this brings a tear to my eye. I can't help but look up at the dusty evening sky and say a prayer to the ancestors to help her.
"Slasher!!"
I look down the worn street leading to the arena and I see Squish leading a small entourage towards me. All of the old faces of Bloodlust are with her, along with a few new ones.
"Did you find Goregreedy as I asked?" the Bloodelf says as she approaches.
"Yea, hees in dere." I say with my head held down as I gesture towards the arena.
"Good, you continue to serve me well orc. Stick around, I need to talk to you." Squish says as she walks past me towards the massive building.
I follow the group back up the short walk to the door.
"I'm not going in there." Squish says as she stops at the entryway. "Calmfury, your on your own. We will wait out here until your done. Make it quick!
I watch as a burly looking Tauren at her side reluctantly lumbers forward and starts wading into the mob inside.
"Wait, Squish did yous call em Calmfury?" I say with a sneer.
Squish turns to me and nods with a half grin on her face.
"Dats not funny Squish" I say as I look back up at the faint twinkle of the evening stars. "Calmfury wus mah freend, ah watch'd Garrosh hack em tah peeces."
Squish continues to smile in her arrogant, all-knowning fashion.
"I am going in with him." another tauren says, this one a woman, as she runs forward and presses into the crowd.
Squish just sighs and shakes her head. "This is going to take forever."
Sunday, March 28, 2010
pt 41 The bearer of bad news
The air got noticibly warmer as the zepplin approached the shores of Durotar. The red land was a beautiful sight to behold after seeing the endless ice fields of Northrend.
"Masta Orkymedis.. Ah hav a qwestion?" the scrawny little gruntling says to the grizzled and elderly shaman at his side.
The old orc reluctantly draws his concentration away from the red horizon and down to the child. Without saying a word he gives an austere nod.
"Uh.." the gruntling pauses for a moment in fear of the shaman. "Wut clan do yu bewong ta? Mah fadder and mudder were frum da Fwostwolf clan. Dey was warwers!!" he says proudly.
The shaman turns his gaze back to the approaching shoreline. He focuses hard, as if he is reading the winds.
"You are mispronouncing your words again child." he says sternly. "Speak slowly and how I taught you. If I am to be your teacher then you will speak proper orcish like we do in Nagrand, instead of this troll and human infused babble everyone speaks here."
The gruntling looks down at the deck of the zepplin in shame. At the same time a nearby Orc, no doubt listening in on the conversation, scoffs at the shaman and turns away.
"Captain!" Orkimedes says to the wretched little goblin piloting the zepplin. "You should steer closer to the ground, there is a blast of wind coming from the left side of your ship."
The goblin looks up from his controls with a sneer. "Mind yer own biznizz Orc, I've been pilotin these skies since...."
Suddenly the ship lurches hard to the side, sending all the passengers scampering for a handhold. One unlucky orc, sitting on his slobbering worg, is caught unaware and slides right off the side of the ship.
The zepplin creaks and groans as the captain works hard to get it under control. Finally, he puts the airship in a hard dive to escape the windsheer. As suddenly as it came, the gust of wind stops, and the zepplin is brought under control.
"Stuupid Shaman" the captain mutters. As he corrects his course towards their destination.
The shaken passengers recover themselves and begin looking over the sides of the boat for the unlucky orc.
"I was in the Blackrock Clan little one, and I am not proud of what I did, or what became of my clan. The Frostwolves are a fine clan and you should be proud of your heritage." the elderly shaman finally says in a subdued tone.
The gruntling looks up in amazement at Orkimedes, as a wide, awkward smile comes across his face.
"Masteer..." the child says slowly. "Weel you take meh ta Nagwand to see dah place weer mie ancestwers came frum?"
The shaman smiles through his sharp tusks. "That was better young one. Yes, we will return to the Throne of Elements sometime soon. However, I am growing to like this land. I think we may come back to Orgrimmar to live."
"Orgrimmar!!" the captain shouts as the zepplin crosses into Durotar and turns towards the docking tower outside of the gates of the Orc city.
"Gather our things child. We have to go see my brother as quickly as we can."
The puny gruntling strains to gather the heavy bags scattered across the deck.
As the zepplin slows in it's approach, the heavy weight of the warm, dusty air of Durotar settles on the passengers. Then, as it pulls up to the tower, all of the passengers suddenly exit the airhip in a mass exodus, no doubt shaken by the turbulant flight. No one but the shaman and his gruntling wait for the ship to actually stop.
"Quickly child, my brother awaits!" the shaman says as he runs onto the tower and down the stairs.
As they step out into the dry, dusty plains of Durotar, the massive walls of the City of Orgrimmar tower above them. The elderly shaman looks across the land and smiles, then he raises his arms in praise of the wind.
These past several days have been new and interesting for the little gruntling. While, he seen shamans before, he hasn't been around one for so long. Never has he lived with someone with such a strong spiritual tie to the ancestors and the elements.
Suddenly, Orkimedes utters a strange word in a harsh, almost demonic voice. Green fire erupts from the ground and a hellish looking steed appears. Then, the shaman lifts the gruntling and places him on its back before mounting the creature himself.
"Uh, mastwer..." the child says slowly in a fearful voice. "This is dah thing dat Worlocks ride awound on. Dey is scary, Ey seen dem in dah Shadow Valley in Orgwimmar."
"Yes little one" the shaman smiles as he spurs the animal towards town. "I was not always a shaman. Thankfully, the elements have forgiven me for following Gul'dan."
The nightmare steed races through the gates of Orgrimmar and into the crowded streets beyond. There is no time to delay, what has been revealed about the fate of the gruntlings in Orgrimmar must be relayed to Eitrigg. To Orkimedes, this will be the defining moment for Thrall. If he laughs this off or ignores it, then it is clear that he is with Garrosh in this plan to throw these children in the arenas.
As the pair tear through the back caves of Orgrimmar, called the Drag, the old shaman sees Felika talking to some Blood Elves. No doubt he is eager save the children of Orgrimmar, and then save her from a lonely night alone in her bed.
Finally, they enter the canyon called the Valley of Wisdom, before them is the imposing entrance to Grommash Hold. The home and throne room of the mighty Thrall. As they approach the gates, the guards come to attention and eye the pair with suspicion.
Orkimedes dismounts the Fel Steed, and with a wave of his hand, it disappears in a flash.
"Child, stay here with the bags. I will return soon." the shaman says as he walks past the guards and into the fortress.
Inside it is hot and stifling, and the smell of cooking meat is enticing. The outer chamber of the fortress is the dwelling place of Thrall's elite Kor'kron guards who watch him wearily. As Orkimedes passes the hallway into Thrall's inner sanctum he sees his brother standing to the side in a quiet vigilance.
"Eitrigg, I need to speak to Thrall immediatly!" Orkimedes says as he approaches.
Eitrigg turns, and his face lights up in a wide smile.
"Dretrigg my little brother. You are back from Northrend. I am so glad to see you in one piece."
The pair embrace in a bearhug.
"Brother" Orkimedes says. "Please don't use my name anymore."
Eitrigg looks offended for a moment. "Little brother you are safe. This is Thrall's chamber, the very heart of the Horde. You can trust everyone here."
"I am not convinced of that yet Eitrigg. Listen to me, I have unraveled the secret that the ancestors sent me here to find."
Eitrigg's face becomes hard as he focuses on his brothers words.
"You see" Orkimedes continues. "Veterans of the war in Northrend are bringing orphaned children back from the Argent Tournament. They are secretly fighting these gruntlings in the Orgrimmar arena for sport. Apparently, this was ordered by Garrosh himself to sort out the weak, and to toughen these orphans up. My contact refused to tell my why."
"That is preposterous!!" Eitrigg exclaims "These gruntlings are too young for such a thing, it is against our customs to fight them before they are of age. Garrosh would not, can not order this. Who was this contact you speak of?"
Orkimedes reaches into a leather bag hanging from his belt and produces the severed head of an orc. His gore covered face twisted into a mask of horror.
"He died before I could get more out of him. He said he was sent to Icecrown to recruit veterans with their gruntlings for Garrosh's plan. His head is proof brother, you can speak to his spirit if you want to know more."
Eitrigg's face goes sour as he ponders this new information.
"Stay here little brother, I will speak to Thrall about this." Eitrigg says as he walks towards the throne of the Warchief. Then, he suddenly turns around.
"Dretrigg" he says in a whisper. "Thrall must not know about Garrosh's order or even his involvement in this. He already doesn't trust him and something like this could drive a wedge into the heart of our people."
Without waiting for a response, Eitrigg turns and approaches Thrall's throne. Meanwhile, Orkimedes stands quietly, watching Thrall's face, eager to see how he will react.
At first, Eitrigg talks quietly to the Warchief as Thrall sits stoicly and listens to his words. Then, the coversation becomes animated as a look of anger and disgust gradually work their way into Thrall's face.
Suddenly, Thrall stands. "Kor'kron!! to the Ring of Valor, quickly. Arrest anyone inside."
With his entire court following behind him, Thrall strides out of Grommash hold.
"RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!"
A horrific roar echoes through the canyons of Orgrimmmar, shaking the sandstone walls of the valleys beyond.
"What was that?" Thrall shouts as everyone quickly makes their way towards the massive arena in the Valley of Honor.
"Masta Orkymedis.. Ah hav a qwestion?" the scrawny little gruntling says to the grizzled and elderly shaman at his side.
The old orc reluctantly draws his concentration away from the red horizon and down to the child. Without saying a word he gives an austere nod.
"Uh.." the gruntling pauses for a moment in fear of the shaman. "Wut clan do yu bewong ta? Mah fadder and mudder were frum da Fwostwolf clan. Dey was warwers!!" he says proudly.
The shaman turns his gaze back to the approaching shoreline. He focuses hard, as if he is reading the winds.
"You are mispronouncing your words again child." he says sternly. "Speak slowly and how I taught you. If I am to be your teacher then you will speak proper orcish like we do in Nagrand, instead of this troll and human infused babble everyone speaks here."
The gruntling looks down at the deck of the zepplin in shame. At the same time a nearby Orc, no doubt listening in on the conversation, scoffs at the shaman and turns away.
"Captain!" Orkimedes says to the wretched little goblin piloting the zepplin. "You should steer closer to the ground, there is a blast of wind coming from the left side of your ship."
The goblin looks up from his controls with a sneer. "Mind yer own biznizz Orc, I've been pilotin these skies since...."
Suddenly the ship lurches hard to the side, sending all the passengers scampering for a handhold. One unlucky orc, sitting on his slobbering worg, is caught unaware and slides right off the side of the ship.
The zepplin creaks and groans as the captain works hard to get it under control. Finally, he puts the airship in a hard dive to escape the windsheer. As suddenly as it came, the gust of wind stops, and the zepplin is brought under control.
"Stuupid Shaman" the captain mutters. As he corrects his course towards their destination.
The shaken passengers recover themselves and begin looking over the sides of the boat for the unlucky orc.
"I was in the Blackrock Clan little one, and I am not proud of what I did, or what became of my clan. The Frostwolves are a fine clan and you should be proud of your heritage." the elderly shaman finally says in a subdued tone.
The gruntling looks up in amazement at Orkimedes, as a wide, awkward smile comes across his face.
"Masteer..." the child says slowly. "Weel you take meh ta Nagwand to see dah place weer mie ancestwers came frum?"
The shaman smiles through his sharp tusks. "That was better young one. Yes, we will return to the Throne of Elements sometime soon. However, I am growing to like this land. I think we may come back to Orgrimmar to live."
"Orgrimmar!!" the captain shouts as the zepplin crosses into Durotar and turns towards the docking tower outside of the gates of the Orc city.
"Gather our things child. We have to go see my brother as quickly as we can."
The puny gruntling strains to gather the heavy bags scattered across the deck.
As the zepplin slows in it's approach, the heavy weight of the warm, dusty air of Durotar settles on the passengers. Then, as it pulls up to the tower, all of the passengers suddenly exit the airhip in a mass exodus, no doubt shaken by the turbulant flight. No one but the shaman and his gruntling wait for the ship to actually stop.
"Quickly child, my brother awaits!" the shaman says as he runs onto the tower and down the stairs.
As they step out into the dry, dusty plains of Durotar, the massive walls of the City of Orgrimmar tower above them. The elderly shaman looks across the land and smiles, then he raises his arms in praise of the wind.
These past several days have been new and interesting for the little gruntling. While, he seen shamans before, he hasn't been around one for so long. Never has he lived with someone with such a strong spiritual tie to the ancestors and the elements.
Suddenly, Orkimedes utters a strange word in a harsh, almost demonic voice. Green fire erupts from the ground and a hellish looking steed appears. Then, the shaman lifts the gruntling and places him on its back before mounting the creature himself.
"Uh, mastwer..." the child says slowly in a fearful voice. "This is dah thing dat Worlocks ride awound on. Dey is scary, Ey seen dem in dah Shadow Valley in Orgwimmar."
"Yes little one" the shaman smiles as he spurs the animal towards town. "I was not always a shaman. Thankfully, the elements have forgiven me for following Gul'dan."
The nightmare steed races through the gates of Orgrimmar and into the crowded streets beyond. There is no time to delay, what has been revealed about the fate of the gruntlings in Orgrimmar must be relayed to Eitrigg. To Orkimedes, this will be the defining moment for Thrall. If he laughs this off or ignores it, then it is clear that he is with Garrosh in this plan to throw these children in the arenas.
As the pair tear through the back caves of Orgrimmar, called the Drag, the old shaman sees Felika talking to some Blood Elves. No doubt he is eager save the children of Orgrimmar, and then save her from a lonely night alone in her bed.
Finally, they enter the canyon called the Valley of Wisdom, before them is the imposing entrance to Grommash Hold. The home and throne room of the mighty Thrall. As they approach the gates, the guards come to attention and eye the pair with suspicion.
Orkimedes dismounts the Fel Steed, and with a wave of his hand, it disappears in a flash.
"Child, stay here with the bags. I will return soon." the shaman says as he walks past the guards and into the fortress.
Inside it is hot and stifling, and the smell of cooking meat is enticing. The outer chamber of the fortress is the dwelling place of Thrall's elite Kor'kron guards who watch him wearily. As Orkimedes passes the hallway into Thrall's inner sanctum he sees his brother standing to the side in a quiet vigilance.
"Eitrigg, I need to speak to Thrall immediatly!" Orkimedes says as he approaches.
Eitrigg turns, and his face lights up in a wide smile.
"Dretrigg my little brother. You are back from Northrend. I am so glad to see you in one piece."
The pair embrace in a bearhug.
"Brother" Orkimedes says. "Please don't use my name anymore."
Eitrigg looks offended for a moment. "Little brother you are safe. This is Thrall's chamber, the very heart of the Horde. You can trust everyone here."
"I am not convinced of that yet Eitrigg. Listen to me, I have unraveled the secret that the ancestors sent me here to find."
Eitrigg's face becomes hard as he focuses on his brothers words.
"You see" Orkimedes continues. "Veterans of the war in Northrend are bringing orphaned children back from the Argent Tournament. They are secretly fighting these gruntlings in the Orgrimmar arena for sport. Apparently, this was ordered by Garrosh himself to sort out the weak, and to toughen these orphans up. My contact refused to tell my why."
"That is preposterous!!" Eitrigg exclaims "These gruntlings are too young for such a thing, it is against our customs to fight them before they are of age. Garrosh would not, can not order this. Who was this contact you speak of?"
Orkimedes reaches into a leather bag hanging from his belt and produces the severed head of an orc. His gore covered face twisted into a mask of horror.
"He died before I could get more out of him. He said he was sent to Icecrown to recruit veterans with their gruntlings for Garrosh's plan. His head is proof brother, you can speak to his spirit if you want to know more."
Eitrigg's face goes sour as he ponders this new information.
"Stay here little brother, I will speak to Thrall about this." Eitrigg says as he walks towards the throne of the Warchief. Then, he suddenly turns around.
"Dretrigg" he says in a whisper. "Thrall must not know about Garrosh's order or even his involvement in this. He already doesn't trust him and something like this could drive a wedge into the heart of our people."
Without waiting for a response, Eitrigg turns and approaches Thrall's throne. Meanwhile, Orkimedes stands quietly, watching Thrall's face, eager to see how he will react.
At first, Eitrigg talks quietly to the Warchief as Thrall sits stoicly and listens to his words. Then, the coversation becomes animated as a look of anger and disgust gradually work their way into Thrall's face.
Suddenly, Thrall stands. "Kor'kron!! to the Ring of Valor, quickly. Arrest anyone inside."
With his entire court following behind him, Thrall strides out of Grommash hold.
"RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!"
A horrific roar echoes through the canyons of Orgrimmmar, shaking the sandstone walls of the valleys beyond.
"What was that?" Thrall shouts as everyone quickly makes their way towards the massive arena in the Valley of Honor.
Friday, March 19, 2010
pt 40 The breaking point
The wretched Death Knight Champion hacks relentlessly at us with his deadly war axe. The cold air around us has the nauseating scent of fresh blood. However, it's not the blood from our wounds, instead it is clouds of our essence being drawn from within our bodies by the horrifying power of Deathbringer Saurfang, Champion of Arthas, and son of our beloved High Overlord Saurfang. As he absorbs the blood into himself we can see he is physically getting larger and stronger.
"Bloodlust!! Tear him down now! We must end this or we are done for!!" Squish screams over the chaos of the battle.
The lithe Blood elf paladin holds her shield high and takes the brunt of Saurfang's assault. I stand at her side, in the form of a bear, tearing and scratching at his ornate armor with my claws.
High above us in the air hangs Overlord Saurfang and his elite guard. They are held at the neck by some nefarious power of his traitorous son. It's clear that if we fail here, the life will be choked out of him, and the Horde will lose a great leader.
"I have become... death!!" Deathbringer Saurfang roars as he grows to an incredible size. Clearly, his absorption of our blood has brought him to a pinnacle of unholy power.
Suddenly, Squish is knocked backwards as her shield takes the brunt of Saurfang's assault. I step forward to block him from finishing her off, and continue ripping and mauling him with all my strength. To my dismay, I make very little headway against his unholy armor.
Behind Saurfang I can see the hardened veterans of the warband; Doklahar, the Deathknight, traitor to Arthas and the Scourge, and our guide through the twisting halls of Icecrown Citadel. He viciously tears at the back of Saurfang with his axe, with a cool, stoic expression on his face which hides his venomous hatred of the Scourge. Next to him stands the Orc scout known as Poklix. A veteran of countless wars and battles across Azeroth and beyond. He deftly hacks and slashes with his razor sharp hand axes. Also in my view I can see Charibdys as she focuses her magic into life giving waves of energy. It is her and the other healers of Bloodlust that keep us alive against all odds.
A magical hammer soars over my head and into the thick, ornate helmet of Saurfang. As it does, Squish rejoins the battle with renewed strength. She slams her shield hard into the Scourge Champion, and swings her light-infused sword at him with deadly precision. The blade slicing through his armor at the hip and tearing a long gash into the cold flesh beneath.
Deathbringer Saurfang suddenly lurches to the side and lets out a sickening scream. "I... Am... Released." he hisses as he falls to the frozen, bloodsoaked floor.
Before our eyes we watch as he slowly shrinks back to his normal size, the stolen blood flowing from his body like a river of gore. Meanwhile, Overlord Saurfang comes crashing to the ground as the magic that held him and his guard is dispelled. They cough and gasp for air.
"It is done." Squish says softly as she walks away from the scene and to the edge of the balcony. "Poklix, sharpen my sword" She hands her blade to the Orc, who also serves as her personal assistant. The scout takes the blade carefully and begins to dig in his bags for his sharpening kit.
The rest of the warband spread out, trying to find a safe and comfortable place to eat a little and to get a handle on the horror of the situation.
As I stand there, Overlord Saurfang gets up from the ground and walks to the broken body of his son. I confess now that I have never seen an orc cry. Tears roll from his eyes and turn to ice on his ancient and leathery face.
"You will have a proper ceremony in Nagrand next to the pyres of your mother and ancestors." he says as he slowly lifts the broken and bloody corpse of his son off the floor.
As always, I can't help but think of my Meekha. My last memory of her was the horrified look on her face as she watched Garrosh cut me to pieces. It seems like a lifetime ago, yet my love for her has not faded and I yearn to see her again. I can't believe that she is alive, and she thinks I am dead. I wonder if she mourns my death or if she even remembers me.
Saurfang turns and somberly begins carrying his son back to the Orgrim's Hammer airship docked on the edge of the balcony. As I watch him in sorrow, he turns to me and nods. I can't help but feel his pain over the loss of his child. Even if we are warriors of the Horde, destined to die in battle at the whim of our Warchief, the pain of such a loss is nearly unbearable. It is a pain that Meekha must have felt when I died.
"Honor, young heroes... no matter how dire the battle... Never forsake it!" Saurfang says in a slow and somber voice.
Honor... I remember that day. The day that Meekha asked me what gives a person value. I told her it was not treasure or riches or titles, it is honor. But, have I lived with honor? These past few days I have served the Horde and our warband by doing what is expected of me. Fighting hard in this struggle with the Lich King. Yet, I must confess that it is not patriotism or loyalty that has driven me, it is the desire to see Meekha again. Squish promised me that if I survive this campaign that she will take me to my adopted daughter.
But, I wonder if this is honor or is the leverage that this Blood Elf has over me what drives me?
Across the balcony I see Squish. She is standing at the edge looking out across the frozen expanse of Icecrown. Her confidence and smug demeanor reminds me of the arrogance of the Alliance soldiers I have killed. Her noble air reminds me of my father. He would have never sacrificed everything for his son, as Saurfang has done this day, as I would gladly do for Meekha.
In one fluid motion I shift out of my bear form and walk across the balcony towards her. The hissing grind of Poklix's sharpening stone seeming to keep in time with the icy breeze blowing up from the glaciers below.
"Squish, I want to talk to you." I say as I walk up behind her.
The Blood Elf barely turns to sneer at me.
"I am tired of waiting, I want to see Meekha. I want to make sure she is okay and I want her to know I am alive." I say firmy
Squish turns around to face me, as if she is ready for a confrontation.
"Why don't you shut up bull boy and do as your told! I didn't bring you here to think, I brought you here to fight." she replies in a threatening tone.
A primal anger stirs deep within me. An anger that I have not felt in a long time.
"Squish" I say with a growl "She is the closest thing I have to a daughter. It is a matter of honor that I find her. It will only take a few..."
"I said shut your mouth." she interrupts, as her gauntleted had strikes me hard across my face. "I don't give a crap about your little whelp or your damned honor, this is about glory, my glor..."
Without even thinking my hands suddenly wrap around her throat and I lift her into the air. My indignant rage drives me to choke the life out of her. As she kicks helplessly and gasps for air, her hand instinctively goes to the empty scabbard at her waist.
"Calmfury!!" Poklix shouts behind me as he drops the sharpening stone and sword and grabs his axes.
The warband springs to life as they see me strangling our leader. They quickly gather around behind me, uncertain about what to do. As they draw near, I step up on the side of the balcony and hold Squish over the edge.
"So hep me, put er down yah stuupid Taureen or ey'll cut yeu in two!!" Poklix shouts
Doklahar runs forward and grabs Poklix on the shoulder. "And if you do Orc you'll send them both falling to their deaths" he says in his chilling voice.
"And.. " Charibdys interrupts with a callous chuckle "Calmfury can turn into a Stormcrow, so he won't be killed in the fall."
The entire warband stands helpless for a moment, pondering the situation as Squish gasps for air.
"Calmfury, you don't want to kill Squish, you want to put her down." Doklahar says in a calm, soothing tone as he holds out his hand in friendship.
"No I don't" I say through gritted teeth as I look into Squish's bulging eyes "I want to see my daughter."
Earthmoon, the indomitable Tauren shaman steps forward. "Calmfury, we all want to see our families again." he says in Taurahe, the language of our people.
He doesn't understand that this is different.
"Either I see my daughter, or I kill Squish and fly away from here." I say with grim determination. My traitorous ultimatum settling on the warband like a lead weight.
"Ya do dis and ey'll hunt ya wheereva ya go Taureen" Poklix says with a hiss.
"Camfury, don't do dis Mon" Jezi says in a pleading tone.
Squish's lips turn blue and her eyes begin to roll back in her head.
"Calmfury, we need to go back to Orgrimmar for supplies anyway." Doklahar says with urgency "Put her down and we will all go. Squish, tell him we will go."
All eyes turn to the barely conscious face of Squish as she does her best to nod in agreement.
"See, she agrees, now please put her down." Doklahar says.
A very tense second goes by as I ponder wether I want to drop her off the edge or onto the balcony. Then, I realize that word may get back to Orgrimmar before I do and someone could kill poor Meekha before I get there.
I turn and drop the little elf in a heap on the icy balcony.
Suddenly, Poklix leaps into the air, slashing with his axes, and cuts off one of the dangling ponytails at my neck, drawing just a faint trickle of blood. I turn to fight the determined orc as he quickly rolls and comes to a stand a few yards away from me.
"Dat was just a warnin Taureen. Ya touch Squish agin and ey'll drive mah axe thru yah throat." he says with a hiss.
"Stop!!" Doklahar shouts
"You got one day" Squish says as she stands up and trys to catch her breath. "We'll get your stupid little runt. But then we are back here and renewing our assault. Do I make myself clear?"
The warband looks at me as I nod in agreement. Everyone but Poklix breaths a sigh of relief as Squish turns around, picks up her shield and sword, and heads to the airship. Then, they begin gathering their belongings and chattering about how much they will drink when they get to Orgrimmar.
As I stand alone in the frigid wind I can't help but wonder if I did the right thing.
"I didn't think you had it in you Calmfury." Charibdys says with a smile as she approaches me. "I was starting to worry that you lost your Balance again."
She hasn't smiled or even spoken to me since we entered the Citadel.
"I don't know what to say to Meekha when I see her. I'm afraid she won't remember me." I say
Charibdys chuckles a bit. "I'm sure she will remember you. I'm just not sure how she'll recognize you."
"Bloodlust!! Tear him down now! We must end this or we are done for!!" Squish screams over the chaos of the battle.
The lithe Blood elf paladin holds her shield high and takes the brunt of Saurfang's assault. I stand at her side, in the form of a bear, tearing and scratching at his ornate armor with my claws.
High above us in the air hangs Overlord Saurfang and his elite guard. They are held at the neck by some nefarious power of his traitorous son. It's clear that if we fail here, the life will be choked out of him, and the Horde will lose a great leader.
"I have become... death!!" Deathbringer Saurfang roars as he grows to an incredible size. Clearly, his absorption of our blood has brought him to a pinnacle of unholy power.
Suddenly, Squish is knocked backwards as her shield takes the brunt of Saurfang's assault. I step forward to block him from finishing her off, and continue ripping and mauling him with all my strength. To my dismay, I make very little headway against his unholy armor.
Behind Saurfang I can see the hardened veterans of the warband; Doklahar, the Deathknight, traitor to Arthas and the Scourge, and our guide through the twisting halls of Icecrown Citadel. He viciously tears at the back of Saurfang with his axe, with a cool, stoic expression on his face which hides his venomous hatred of the Scourge. Next to him stands the Orc scout known as Poklix. A veteran of countless wars and battles across Azeroth and beyond. He deftly hacks and slashes with his razor sharp hand axes. Also in my view I can see Charibdys as she focuses her magic into life giving waves of energy. It is her and the other healers of Bloodlust that keep us alive against all odds.
A magical hammer soars over my head and into the thick, ornate helmet of Saurfang. As it does, Squish rejoins the battle with renewed strength. She slams her shield hard into the Scourge Champion, and swings her light-infused sword at him with deadly precision. The blade slicing through his armor at the hip and tearing a long gash into the cold flesh beneath.
Deathbringer Saurfang suddenly lurches to the side and lets out a sickening scream. "I... Am... Released." he hisses as he falls to the frozen, bloodsoaked floor.
Before our eyes we watch as he slowly shrinks back to his normal size, the stolen blood flowing from his body like a river of gore. Meanwhile, Overlord Saurfang comes crashing to the ground as the magic that held him and his guard is dispelled. They cough and gasp for air.
"It is done." Squish says softly as she walks away from the scene and to the edge of the balcony. "Poklix, sharpen my sword" She hands her blade to the Orc, who also serves as her personal assistant. The scout takes the blade carefully and begins to dig in his bags for his sharpening kit.
The rest of the warband spread out, trying to find a safe and comfortable place to eat a little and to get a handle on the horror of the situation.
As I stand there, Overlord Saurfang gets up from the ground and walks to the broken body of his son. I confess now that I have never seen an orc cry. Tears roll from his eyes and turn to ice on his ancient and leathery face.
"You will have a proper ceremony in Nagrand next to the pyres of your mother and ancestors." he says as he slowly lifts the broken and bloody corpse of his son off the floor.
As always, I can't help but think of my Meekha. My last memory of her was the horrified look on her face as she watched Garrosh cut me to pieces. It seems like a lifetime ago, yet my love for her has not faded and I yearn to see her again. I can't believe that she is alive, and she thinks I am dead. I wonder if she mourns my death or if she even remembers me.
Saurfang turns and somberly begins carrying his son back to the Orgrim's Hammer airship docked on the edge of the balcony. As I watch him in sorrow, he turns to me and nods. I can't help but feel his pain over the loss of his child. Even if we are warriors of the Horde, destined to die in battle at the whim of our Warchief, the pain of such a loss is nearly unbearable. It is a pain that Meekha must have felt when I died.
"Honor, young heroes... no matter how dire the battle... Never forsake it!" Saurfang says in a slow and somber voice.
Honor... I remember that day. The day that Meekha asked me what gives a person value. I told her it was not treasure or riches or titles, it is honor. But, have I lived with honor? These past few days I have served the Horde and our warband by doing what is expected of me. Fighting hard in this struggle with the Lich King. Yet, I must confess that it is not patriotism or loyalty that has driven me, it is the desire to see Meekha again. Squish promised me that if I survive this campaign that she will take me to my adopted daughter.
But, I wonder if this is honor or is the leverage that this Blood Elf has over me what drives me?
Across the balcony I see Squish. She is standing at the edge looking out across the frozen expanse of Icecrown. Her confidence and smug demeanor reminds me of the arrogance of the Alliance soldiers I have killed. Her noble air reminds me of my father. He would have never sacrificed everything for his son, as Saurfang has done this day, as I would gladly do for Meekha.
In one fluid motion I shift out of my bear form and walk across the balcony towards her. The hissing grind of Poklix's sharpening stone seeming to keep in time with the icy breeze blowing up from the glaciers below.
"Squish, I want to talk to you." I say as I walk up behind her.
The Blood Elf barely turns to sneer at me.
"I am tired of waiting, I want to see Meekha. I want to make sure she is okay and I want her to know I am alive." I say firmy
Squish turns around to face me, as if she is ready for a confrontation.
"Why don't you shut up bull boy and do as your told! I didn't bring you here to think, I brought you here to fight." she replies in a threatening tone.
A primal anger stirs deep within me. An anger that I have not felt in a long time.
"Squish" I say with a growl "She is the closest thing I have to a daughter. It is a matter of honor that I find her. It will only take a few..."
"I said shut your mouth." she interrupts, as her gauntleted had strikes me hard across my face. "I don't give a crap about your little whelp or your damned honor, this is about glory, my glor..."
Without even thinking my hands suddenly wrap around her throat and I lift her into the air. My indignant rage drives me to choke the life out of her. As she kicks helplessly and gasps for air, her hand instinctively goes to the empty scabbard at her waist.
"Calmfury!!" Poklix shouts behind me as he drops the sharpening stone and sword and grabs his axes.
The warband springs to life as they see me strangling our leader. They quickly gather around behind me, uncertain about what to do. As they draw near, I step up on the side of the balcony and hold Squish over the edge.
"So hep me, put er down yah stuupid Taureen or ey'll cut yeu in two!!" Poklix shouts
Doklahar runs forward and grabs Poklix on the shoulder. "And if you do Orc you'll send them both falling to their deaths" he says in his chilling voice.
"And.. " Charibdys interrupts with a callous chuckle "Calmfury can turn into a Stormcrow, so he won't be killed in the fall."
The entire warband stands helpless for a moment, pondering the situation as Squish gasps for air.
"Calmfury, you don't want to kill Squish, you want to put her down." Doklahar says in a calm, soothing tone as he holds out his hand in friendship.
"No I don't" I say through gritted teeth as I look into Squish's bulging eyes "I want to see my daughter."
Earthmoon, the indomitable Tauren shaman steps forward. "Calmfury, we all want to see our families again." he says in Taurahe, the language of our people.
He doesn't understand that this is different.
"Either I see my daughter, or I kill Squish and fly away from here." I say with grim determination. My traitorous ultimatum settling on the warband like a lead weight.
"Ya do dis and ey'll hunt ya wheereva ya go Taureen" Poklix says with a hiss.
"Camfury, don't do dis Mon" Jezi says in a pleading tone.
Squish's lips turn blue and her eyes begin to roll back in her head.
"Calmfury, we need to go back to Orgrimmar for supplies anyway." Doklahar says with urgency "Put her down and we will all go. Squish, tell him we will go."
All eyes turn to the barely conscious face of Squish as she does her best to nod in agreement.
"See, she agrees, now please put her down." Doklahar says.
A very tense second goes by as I ponder wether I want to drop her off the edge or onto the balcony. Then, I realize that word may get back to Orgrimmar before I do and someone could kill poor Meekha before I get there.
I turn and drop the little elf in a heap on the icy balcony.
Suddenly, Poklix leaps into the air, slashing with his axes, and cuts off one of the dangling ponytails at my neck, drawing just a faint trickle of blood. I turn to fight the determined orc as he quickly rolls and comes to a stand a few yards away from me.
"Dat was just a warnin Taureen. Ya touch Squish agin and ey'll drive mah axe thru yah throat." he says with a hiss.
"Stop!!" Doklahar shouts
"You got one day" Squish says as she stands up and trys to catch her breath. "We'll get your stupid little runt. But then we are back here and renewing our assault. Do I make myself clear?"
The warband looks at me as I nod in agreement. Everyone but Poklix breaths a sigh of relief as Squish turns around, picks up her shield and sword, and heads to the airship. Then, they begin gathering their belongings and chattering about how much they will drink when they get to Orgrimmar.
As I stand alone in the frigid wind I can't help but wonder if I did the right thing.
"I didn't think you had it in you Calmfury." Charibdys says with a smile as she approaches me. "I was starting to worry that you lost your Balance again."
She hasn't smiled or even spoken to me since we entered the Citadel.
"I don't know what to say to Meekha when I see her. I'm afraid she won't remember me." I say
Charibdys chuckles a bit. "I'm sure she will remember you. I'm just not sure how she'll recognize you."
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
pt 39 From a child's mouth comes the truth
The restless crowd gathers in a huddled mass as the cold wind of Icecrown chills them to their bones. On the jousting field, two combatants stand like frozen statues, facing each other across the icy ground of the Argent Tournament.
One is a proud and noble human in shining armor, wearing the tabard of the Argent Crusade. The other, a savage looking Orc dressed in strange mail armor that seems to smolder and smoke without catching fire. Both opponents hold a towering lance and sit a top an anxious mount. A horse for the human, and a vicious worg for the orc.
"Champions, you may commence with the joust!!" Squire Cavin calls from atop a nearby box serving as podium overseeing the challenge field.
Suddenly, the two jousters break into a run towards one another. Tension rises to a crescendo as they lower their lances in anticipation of the collision.
With a sickening crash they plow into one another, their lances skittering off each others shields. Neither are knocked off their mounts. They pass one another and wheel about at opposite ends of the field. Then, with a sharp shout they charge once again.
This time as the pair collide, splinters are sent flying in all directions as the orcs lance shatters on the shield of the human. The pair pass once again without knocking one another off their respective mounts.
As they wheel about at opposite ends of the field, the fight is paused momentarily while a squire runs out to give the orc a new lance. Meanwhile the pair survey one another again, like a pair of bulls preparing to square off, looking for signs of weakness or fear.
Suddenly, as if by some mysterious, unseen signal, the pair charge each other with ferocious tenacity. The beating of the horse's hooves and the worg's paws builds the climatic tension as they hurtle towards one another.
With a loud crash they collide, their lances held firm. With a loud roar of the crowd, the human loses his grip on his shield, and wobbles in the saddle. As he struggles to right himself, his mount comes to an abrupt halt at the end of the field and he falls off, landing hard on the frozen ground. Meanwhile, the orc brings his worg around, ready for another pass to finish his fallen foe.
"Victory to Orkimedes of Orgrimmar!!" shouts Squire Cavin.
A look of shocked confusion crosses the orc's face as crowd cheers and shouts at the quick conclusion of the fight.
It is clear to anyone watching that the fervor of joy or hatred over a victory seems to depend on the victor, and what faction he belongs to. While the Horde cheers wildly, the many of the Alliance in the crowd shout curses and obscenities at the orc champion.
As the human stands up on the field and brushes himself off, the orc approaches slowly on his worg with his lance held high in the air.
"Well done shaman, you proved yourself to be a champion today. For a novice, you joust very well!" the human shouts with a smile as he walks forward with his hand held out in friendship.
The Orc remains stoic, not returning the humans act of friendship.
"If this was Draenor I would kill you now human." he responds in thickly accented and broken common, the language of the humans.
Undaunted, the human champion smiles broadly at the orc as he walks forward to pet the muzzle of his worg mount. With a sudden growl, the worg snaps at the man, nearly biting his armored hand.
"Come now.. Orkimedes is it? This is a game, to challenge our skill at arms and to prepare us for the fight against Arthas" the human says as he wearily steps back away from the orc and his ferocious worg.
"Killing is not a game human!" the orc barks back, loud enough for everyone to hear "Somehow I doubt that Arthas will be fighting you with sticks." As he says that he throws his lance to the ground in disgust.
The crowd goes quiet at the Shaman's harsh words. The human's smile goes to an angry frown as he lowers his hand in friendship.
"Shaman, you won dah fight, eets time fer celebration not angry werds" a burly orc yells from the crowd.
Orkimedes looks up at the crowd and snorts as he turns his worg around and departs from the jousting field.
"Champion, you are to report to Justicar Mariel Trueheart, our venerated Seneschal of the Argent Tournament for your reward!" Squire Cavin shouts across the murmuring of the crowd.
The orc rides his worg slowly to the stables and dismounts. He then begins to walk towards a large pavilion at the far west end of the grounds.
"Aye, I saw yer fight Shaman." the burly orc who shouted from the crowd approaches with his hand held out in friendship and a wide smile on this face. He looks like one of the goblins of Orgrimmar that try to talk you into buying something you don't really want.
Orkimedes does not return the gesture, instead he walks past the stranger with a scowl on his face.
"Hey brovfer, I gots ta talk wif you about sometin ween yer done talkin ta da umie about yer Gruntlin." the orc says as he turns to follow the shaman.
Suddenly Orkimedes stops and wheels about. "I'm not your brother stranger, and why are you interested in my business?" he says with a sneer.
The orc stops in his tracks and recoils from the elder shaman like he was expecting to be backhanded.
"Uh... naw you mistunderstanded me Elda Orkimedes, Ay'm not in yer biznuss. Yah see I was sent here bah dah Warchief tah recruit champiuns fer a project." he says with a stammer.
"A project? What kind of project?"
"Ahh, eets a secret but dah warchief haz a plan tah toughen up dah little gruntlins. Ey'll tell yous all about it whin ya get your gruntlin."
"Toughen them up?" Orkimedes says, his anxiety and anger suddenly coming to the surface. "You say Thrall sent you here to recruit people for this project?"
"Har har har, naw not Thrall, Garrosh. Come hav a drink wit me and we'll talk all about eet."
Without saying a thing the shaman turns and continues his walk to the massive Argent Pavilion. As he approaches, he sees a human woman wearing glittering armor and sitting on an armored steed in the doorway.
"Elder Orkimedes of Orgrimmar." she calls out as he approaches. "You have proven yourself a champion of your people this day and worthy to be called a valiant of the Argent Tournament."
As the aged shaman approaches he gives a slight bow. However, it is clear by the expression on his face that he is not honored or impressed by this title or this game.
"Orkimedes, please take this Orc child as your reward. Train him in the ways of honor and strength."
The woman gestures and a small orc boy, no older than a dozen winters is brought from inside the pavilion. He wears simple clothes, no shoes and the tabard of the Argent Crusade. On his back is a bulky backpack loaded down with various equipment needed for traveling. It's clear that the boy can barely shoulder the weight.
He walks forward and bows deeply before the shaman. Not looking up at him, instead staring at the ground as if he is embarrassed, ashamed, or frightened.
"Ey am at yer servis Master Orkymedes."
The shaman looks down at the pathetic gruntling before him. His face goes from an angry scowl to a deep frown of sadness.
"Justicar, may I ask you a question?" the elderly shaman says in a deep voice.
"Of course" she says with a nod
"I am honored by your gift of this gruntling. But, how did you come into possession of an orc child?"
The justicar looks surprised, and smiles at the shaman for a moment before answering.
"Thrall has the ablest of orphans from his land volunteer to become squires for our champions. This is done to give these warriors an investment in the future of their people. Also, service to the Tournament ensures that only the most noble and honorable soldiers are selected to be rolemodels for these orphans." she replies.
Orkimedes stands before the woman in silence for a long moment before turning around and leaving without saying a word. The confused and timid gruntling stands in the snow for a moment. He looks at the Justicar and then back at the Shaman before finally starting off after him with tears in his eyes.
The pair walk through the snow for a bit, headed towards the Sunstrider Pavilion. The freezing wind biting at them as they make their way through the crowds. Meanwhile, the clash and clamor of more jousting games continues in the tournament grounds. As they approach the massive Sunstrider Pavilion the smell of warm food draws their attention to a nearby troll cooking food over a fire.
"Are you hungry?" Orkimedes says as he turns to the shivering Gruntling. The young child looks terrified as he stares in the distance towards the Sunstrider Pavilion. His mouth hangs open and tears stream down his green face.
The confused shaman looks over his shoulder at what the child is looking at, and sees that burly orc from earlier standing at the entryway of the pavilion and smiling broadly. He waves at Orkimedes in the vile and friendly fashion of a salesman.
"Child, what is wrong with you?" he says as he kneels down to look him square in the eyes.
The gruntling stares blankly for a moment before looking in the face of the shaman. "Master, pweese dont make me fight in dah aweena wiff de uddr Gruntlings. I'll do anyfing for you just don't make me do dat." he finally says with a pleading look on his face
Orkimedes gets a horrified look on his face as tears begin to well up in his own eyes.
"By the Ancestors child, what makes you think I'm gonna do that?" he says
The Gruntling looks deep into the shaman's eyes once again before looking over his shoulder at the orc standing in the doorway beyond.
"All dah Oarphans know dat orc we'kwoots champiuns tah fight dere Gruntlings in Orgwimmar. No one will beweeve us."
As the boy speaks the realization of this truth washes over Orkimedes like a bad dream. This is the secret horror that the ancestors sent him to Azeroth to find.
"Fear not young one." the elderly shaman says with a grim look on his face. "I believe you, and I swear on my bones we will put an end to this." the shaman says as he turns and waves at the orc with a smile.
"But first, let us find out who is at the bottom of this."
One is a proud and noble human in shining armor, wearing the tabard of the Argent Crusade. The other, a savage looking Orc dressed in strange mail armor that seems to smolder and smoke without catching fire. Both opponents hold a towering lance and sit a top an anxious mount. A horse for the human, and a vicious worg for the orc.
"Champions, you may commence with the joust!!" Squire Cavin calls from atop a nearby box serving as podium overseeing the challenge field.
Suddenly, the two jousters break into a run towards one another. Tension rises to a crescendo as they lower their lances in anticipation of the collision.
With a sickening crash they plow into one another, their lances skittering off each others shields. Neither are knocked off their mounts. They pass one another and wheel about at opposite ends of the field. Then, with a sharp shout they charge once again.
This time as the pair collide, splinters are sent flying in all directions as the orcs lance shatters on the shield of the human. The pair pass once again without knocking one another off their respective mounts.
As they wheel about at opposite ends of the field, the fight is paused momentarily while a squire runs out to give the orc a new lance. Meanwhile the pair survey one another again, like a pair of bulls preparing to square off, looking for signs of weakness or fear.
Suddenly, as if by some mysterious, unseen signal, the pair charge each other with ferocious tenacity. The beating of the horse's hooves and the worg's paws builds the climatic tension as they hurtle towards one another.
With a loud crash they collide, their lances held firm. With a loud roar of the crowd, the human loses his grip on his shield, and wobbles in the saddle. As he struggles to right himself, his mount comes to an abrupt halt at the end of the field and he falls off, landing hard on the frozen ground. Meanwhile, the orc brings his worg around, ready for another pass to finish his fallen foe.
"Victory to Orkimedes of Orgrimmar!!" shouts Squire Cavin.
A look of shocked confusion crosses the orc's face as crowd cheers and shouts at the quick conclusion of the fight.
It is clear to anyone watching that the fervor of joy or hatred over a victory seems to depend on the victor, and what faction he belongs to. While the Horde cheers wildly, the many of the Alliance in the crowd shout curses and obscenities at the orc champion.
As the human stands up on the field and brushes himself off, the orc approaches slowly on his worg with his lance held high in the air.
"Well done shaman, you proved yourself to be a champion today. For a novice, you joust very well!" the human shouts with a smile as he walks forward with his hand held out in friendship.
The Orc remains stoic, not returning the humans act of friendship.
"If this was Draenor I would kill you now human." he responds in thickly accented and broken common, the language of the humans.
Undaunted, the human champion smiles broadly at the orc as he walks forward to pet the muzzle of his worg mount. With a sudden growl, the worg snaps at the man, nearly biting his armored hand.
"Come now.. Orkimedes is it? This is a game, to challenge our skill at arms and to prepare us for the fight against Arthas" the human says as he wearily steps back away from the orc and his ferocious worg.
"Killing is not a game human!" the orc barks back, loud enough for everyone to hear "Somehow I doubt that Arthas will be fighting you with sticks." As he says that he throws his lance to the ground in disgust.
The crowd goes quiet at the Shaman's harsh words. The human's smile goes to an angry frown as he lowers his hand in friendship.
"Shaman, you won dah fight, eets time fer celebration not angry werds" a burly orc yells from the crowd.
Orkimedes looks up at the crowd and snorts as he turns his worg around and departs from the jousting field.
"Champion, you are to report to Justicar Mariel Trueheart, our venerated Seneschal of the Argent Tournament for your reward!" Squire Cavin shouts across the murmuring of the crowd.
The orc rides his worg slowly to the stables and dismounts. He then begins to walk towards a large pavilion at the far west end of the grounds.
"Aye, I saw yer fight Shaman." the burly orc who shouted from the crowd approaches with his hand held out in friendship and a wide smile on this face. He looks like one of the goblins of Orgrimmar that try to talk you into buying something you don't really want.
Orkimedes does not return the gesture, instead he walks past the stranger with a scowl on his face.
"Hey brovfer, I gots ta talk wif you about sometin ween yer done talkin ta da umie about yer Gruntlin." the orc says as he turns to follow the shaman.
Suddenly Orkimedes stops and wheels about. "I'm not your brother stranger, and why are you interested in my business?" he says with a sneer.
The orc stops in his tracks and recoils from the elder shaman like he was expecting to be backhanded.
"Uh... naw you mistunderstanded me Elda Orkimedes, Ay'm not in yer biznuss. Yah see I was sent here bah dah Warchief tah recruit champiuns fer a project." he says with a stammer.
"A project? What kind of project?"
"Ahh, eets a secret but dah warchief haz a plan tah toughen up dah little gruntlins. Ey'll tell yous all about it whin ya get your gruntlin."
"Toughen them up?" Orkimedes says, his anxiety and anger suddenly coming to the surface. "You say Thrall sent you here to recruit people for this project?"
"Har har har, naw not Thrall, Garrosh. Come hav a drink wit me and we'll talk all about eet."
Without saying a thing the shaman turns and continues his walk to the massive Argent Pavilion. As he approaches, he sees a human woman wearing glittering armor and sitting on an armored steed in the doorway.
"Elder Orkimedes of Orgrimmar." she calls out as he approaches. "You have proven yourself a champion of your people this day and worthy to be called a valiant of the Argent Tournament."
As the aged shaman approaches he gives a slight bow. However, it is clear by the expression on his face that he is not honored or impressed by this title or this game.
"Orkimedes, please take this Orc child as your reward. Train him in the ways of honor and strength."
The woman gestures and a small orc boy, no older than a dozen winters is brought from inside the pavilion. He wears simple clothes, no shoes and the tabard of the Argent Crusade. On his back is a bulky backpack loaded down with various equipment needed for traveling. It's clear that the boy can barely shoulder the weight.
He walks forward and bows deeply before the shaman. Not looking up at him, instead staring at the ground as if he is embarrassed, ashamed, or frightened.
"Ey am at yer servis Master Orkymedes."
The shaman looks down at the pathetic gruntling before him. His face goes from an angry scowl to a deep frown of sadness.
"Justicar, may I ask you a question?" the elderly shaman says in a deep voice.
"Of course" she says with a nod
"I am honored by your gift of this gruntling. But, how did you come into possession of an orc child?"
The justicar looks surprised, and smiles at the shaman for a moment before answering.
"Thrall has the ablest of orphans from his land volunteer to become squires for our champions. This is done to give these warriors an investment in the future of their people. Also, service to the Tournament ensures that only the most noble and honorable soldiers are selected to be rolemodels for these orphans." she replies.
Orkimedes stands before the woman in silence for a long moment before turning around and leaving without saying a word. The confused and timid gruntling stands in the snow for a moment. He looks at the Justicar and then back at the Shaman before finally starting off after him with tears in his eyes.
The pair walk through the snow for a bit, headed towards the Sunstrider Pavilion. The freezing wind biting at them as they make their way through the crowds. Meanwhile, the clash and clamor of more jousting games continues in the tournament grounds. As they approach the massive Sunstrider Pavilion the smell of warm food draws their attention to a nearby troll cooking food over a fire.
"Are you hungry?" Orkimedes says as he turns to the shivering Gruntling. The young child looks terrified as he stares in the distance towards the Sunstrider Pavilion. His mouth hangs open and tears stream down his green face.
The confused shaman looks over his shoulder at what the child is looking at, and sees that burly orc from earlier standing at the entryway of the pavilion and smiling broadly. He waves at Orkimedes in the vile and friendly fashion of a salesman.
"Child, what is wrong with you?" he says as he kneels down to look him square in the eyes.
The gruntling stares blankly for a moment before looking in the face of the shaman. "Master, pweese dont make me fight in dah aweena wiff de uddr Gruntlings. I'll do anyfing for you just don't make me do dat." he finally says with a pleading look on his face
Orkimedes gets a horrified look on his face as tears begin to well up in his own eyes.
"By the Ancestors child, what makes you think I'm gonna do that?" he says
The Gruntling looks deep into the shaman's eyes once again before looking over his shoulder at the orc standing in the doorway beyond.
"All dah Oarphans know dat orc we'kwoots champiuns tah fight dere Gruntlings in Orgwimmar. No one will beweeve us."
As the boy speaks the realization of this truth washes over Orkimedes like a bad dream. This is the secret horror that the ancestors sent him to Azeroth to find.
"Fear not young one." the elderly shaman says with a grim look on his face. "I believe you, and I swear on my bones we will put an end to this." the shaman says as he turns and waves at the orc with a smile.
"But first, let us find out who is at the bottom of this."
Monday, March 8, 2010
pt 38 The Inquisition
"Tell me again Lord Diogenes, how did you come to be in the company of the Lich King?" the old and sour priest says with a sneer.
The battered and visibly exhausted man at the center of the small room tenses up and lets out a long drawn out sigh.
"I told you... I am not part of the Lich King's army. I have nothing to do with him, I have never even met him!!" the prisoner says in exacerbation. "I was part of an expedition that entered a place called the Halls of Reflection. I was... separated from my party and I managed to escape on my own."
The priest gives him a suspicious look for a moment, and writes something down on a piece of parchment.
"Lord Diogenes, you understand that I am employed by the Kirin Tor to interrogate prisoners. You should know that it is my job to determine when someone is lying and to hold them accountable to the Light!"
He stands from behind his desk and walks to the front of the man who is chained to his chair.
"Now, I will ask you again... What is your relation to the Lich King?!?" as he speaks a faint glow comes from his body, as if he is channeling the very essence of the Light.
The prisoner visibly flinches and turns away from the glow.
"I am not a servant of the Lich King... This I swear, on the Light itself if I must!!" the prisoner says through clenched teeth.
The old priest stands quietly for a moment in contemplation. Meanwhile, whatever power he employed seems to fade away as suddenly as it came. Then, he turns sharply and goes back to his desk.
"Very well Lord Diogenes, you tell a convincing lie. Lets discuss this expedition you were on into the Icecrown Citadel. Who was your leader, and what were you sent there to accomplish?"
Once again, the prisoner tenses up and looks down at the floor as if he is trying to craft a convincing story.
"Uh... Well, I am not at liberty to talk about it. You see, I am in the service of the Argent Crusade and Tirion Fordring. These are sensitive matters and you ask me to betray a trust."
The priest smiles like a snarling wolf that has caught it's prey in a trap. He sits down at the desk and writes something down as he shakes his head.
"Tell me Lord Diogenes, you are a mage of the Kirin Tor are you not?"
"I am not. I served as an apprentice for the Kirin Tor before Arthas sacked Dalaran. Afterwards I went home to Gilneas." the prisoner replies, holding his head up as if he is proud.
"I see... I detected a strange accent. You are from Gilneas? I thought the Kingdom was sealed behind the great wall? Didn't they all succumb to a curse or something?"
The prisoner shifts uncomfortably for a moment. "Not all of us were behind the wall, and not all of us succumbed to the curse you speak of."
Suddenly, the door opens and a small entourage of people enter. One of them is a stately looking Night Elf who hands a sealed letter to the priest.
"Inquisitor Wilkins, I bear a letter from the archives that I believe will assist you greatly in your interrogation" the tall elf says as he looks at the prisoner with thinly veiled hatred.
The priest, obviously disturbed by this sudden intrusion, breaks the wax seal and opens the letter. As he reads its contents, his face sinks into a deep frown. Finally, he looks up at the prisoner with anger on his face.
"So, Lord Diogenes you maintain that you do not serve the Lich King?" the priest says, as he once again rises from his desk and approaches the prisoner.
The prisoners dark skin goes ashen and his body becomes tense as he anxiously anticipates what he fears is written in the letter.
"Inquisitor, I swear that I am not a servant of Arthas. I have never served him in any capacity." he replies as his voice cracks with fear.
"Perhaps not Arthas, but what about Kel' Thuzad?!? Weren't you his apprentice?!?"
Suddenly, a blinding light erupts from the priest, and envelopes the prisoner. The heat of the holy aura seems to burn his skin as the prisoner screams and convulses from the pain.
"and it was you that used your necromantic power to possess the Elder Sylios in Moonglade!" the Night Elf interrupts. His voice rising to an indignant roar.
"NNNNOOOOOO!!!!" the prisoner screams in terror filled pain. The holy light causing his unnatural flesh to smolder and blister.
"Tell us the truth Lord Diogenes, tell us everything." the priest says calmly
The group of mages that came into the room with the Night Elf turn their heads in disgust at the torture of the prisoner.
"I will tell you!! Please, make it stop!!"
The priest lowers his hands and the glow fades from the room once again. Everyone goes quiet in anticipation. Meanwhile the prisoners skin continues to smoke and sizzle.
"I am waiting Lord Diogenes." the priest says.
The prisoner looks up at the group with tears rolling down his scorched cheeks.
"My name is Diogenes, I was once a mage of the Kirin Tor, before I left the order as a lowly apprentice to search for a cure for the Curse of the Worgen."
"Are you a necromancer?" the Night Elf says as he spits on the marble floor.
"No, I am not!" the prisoner shouts indignantly "I served the Druids at Moonglade, hoping that their mastery of shape shifting would help me control my curse."
The priest steps forward, a faint glow of light coming from him once again.
"How did you end up in Icecrown Citadel?" he says "and by the light you will tell us the truth this time!"
The prisoner flinches in horror. "I was part of an expedition. I entered as Calmfury, a Tauren Druid. We were chasing Lady Sylvanas, of the Forsaken, as she pursued Arthas. Something happened, and I was separated from Calmfury. The expedition was gonna kill me so I fled back down the tunnel from which we came. Then I was rescued by soldiers of the Argent Crusade."
"and how did you become bound to this Tauren Druid?" the Night Elf asks.
The prisoner looks at the Elf with a searing vein of hatred in his eyes. Meanwhile, the assembled onlookers stare at him in anticipation of his answer.
"I used..." the prisoner pauses, knowing his confession is about to ruin him. But, a fear of the searing light is worse than whatever else they can do. "I used unnatural and forbidden powers, that I learned in my time serving my former master." he says quietly and with dread.
A shocked silence falls over the room as the truth of the matter is finally revealed. As the onlookers look at one another the Night Elf stares at the prisoner with disgust.
"Master Ronin" the Night Elf says as he turns to a well dressed human standing at the back of the room. "This necromancer is wanted by Lady Tyrande and Arch Druid Fandrel in Darnassus for the murder of a venerated Elder and for attempting to spread his curse to my people. I demand that we be allowed to return him to answer for these crimes."
The stately mage looks at the elf for a moment and then opens the door and walks out. His entourage of the Kirin Tor council walking out with him.
The elf turns with a flourish to the priest. "Inquisitor Wilkins, prepare the prisoner for his journey." he says with a smile as he turns and follows the group into the hallway.
Outside, stands Ronin, looking out the window at the city of Dalaran far below. Meanwhile, the council walks away in a group down the hallway.
"Theklus, I never said I was turning Lord Diogenes over to you." Ronin says without turning around.
The elf flinches at the words of the Arch Mage.
"But, my Lord Ronin, he is a criminal of the worst sort. He must answer!"
"No Thelkus, he is not. That being in there is not the Diogenes you are after, he is nothing but a duplicate. Brought into being by the Lich Kings foul magics. He is a creature made into flesh from shadow. Nothing more. Trust me, we have seen this kind of thing before."
The Night Elf shakes his head in disbelief. "I don't think I understand." he says slowly.
"If you can't comprehend what I am saying then perhaps it is not given to you to know." Ronin says "Go back to Darnassus and tell your masters that the criminal you seek has not been found."
The Night Elf sneers openly at the mage before bowing and turning to leave.
Ronin stands in the hall alone for a moment, looking out the window. Far beyond the icy mist of the skies of Northrend he sees the dreadful spires of Icecrown Citadel.
"Now, what am I to do with this doppelganger?" he whispers to himself as he turns and strolls slowly down the hall.
The battered and visibly exhausted man at the center of the small room tenses up and lets out a long drawn out sigh.
"I told you... I am not part of the Lich King's army. I have nothing to do with him, I have never even met him!!" the prisoner says in exacerbation. "I was part of an expedition that entered a place called the Halls of Reflection. I was... separated from my party and I managed to escape on my own."
The priest gives him a suspicious look for a moment, and writes something down on a piece of parchment.
"Lord Diogenes, you understand that I am employed by the Kirin Tor to interrogate prisoners. You should know that it is my job to determine when someone is lying and to hold them accountable to the Light!"
He stands from behind his desk and walks to the front of the man who is chained to his chair.
"Now, I will ask you again... What is your relation to the Lich King?!?" as he speaks a faint glow comes from his body, as if he is channeling the very essence of the Light.
The prisoner visibly flinches and turns away from the glow.
"I am not a servant of the Lich King... This I swear, on the Light itself if I must!!" the prisoner says through clenched teeth.
The old priest stands quietly for a moment in contemplation. Meanwhile, whatever power he employed seems to fade away as suddenly as it came. Then, he turns sharply and goes back to his desk.
"Very well Lord Diogenes, you tell a convincing lie. Lets discuss this expedition you were on into the Icecrown Citadel. Who was your leader, and what were you sent there to accomplish?"
Once again, the prisoner tenses up and looks down at the floor as if he is trying to craft a convincing story.
"Uh... Well, I am not at liberty to talk about it. You see, I am in the service of the Argent Crusade and Tirion Fordring. These are sensitive matters and you ask me to betray a trust."
The priest smiles like a snarling wolf that has caught it's prey in a trap. He sits down at the desk and writes something down as he shakes his head.
"Tell me Lord Diogenes, you are a mage of the Kirin Tor are you not?"
"I am not. I served as an apprentice for the Kirin Tor before Arthas sacked Dalaran. Afterwards I went home to Gilneas." the prisoner replies, holding his head up as if he is proud.
"I see... I detected a strange accent. You are from Gilneas? I thought the Kingdom was sealed behind the great wall? Didn't they all succumb to a curse or something?"
The prisoner shifts uncomfortably for a moment. "Not all of us were behind the wall, and not all of us succumbed to the curse you speak of."
Suddenly, the door opens and a small entourage of people enter. One of them is a stately looking Night Elf who hands a sealed letter to the priest.
"Inquisitor Wilkins, I bear a letter from the archives that I believe will assist you greatly in your interrogation" the tall elf says as he looks at the prisoner with thinly veiled hatred.
The priest, obviously disturbed by this sudden intrusion, breaks the wax seal and opens the letter. As he reads its contents, his face sinks into a deep frown. Finally, he looks up at the prisoner with anger on his face.
"So, Lord Diogenes you maintain that you do not serve the Lich King?" the priest says, as he once again rises from his desk and approaches the prisoner.
The prisoners dark skin goes ashen and his body becomes tense as he anxiously anticipates what he fears is written in the letter.
"Inquisitor, I swear that I am not a servant of Arthas. I have never served him in any capacity." he replies as his voice cracks with fear.
"Perhaps not Arthas, but what about Kel' Thuzad?!? Weren't you his apprentice?!?"
Suddenly, a blinding light erupts from the priest, and envelopes the prisoner. The heat of the holy aura seems to burn his skin as the prisoner screams and convulses from the pain.
"and it was you that used your necromantic power to possess the Elder Sylios in Moonglade!" the Night Elf interrupts. His voice rising to an indignant roar.
"NNNNOOOOOO!!!!" the prisoner screams in terror filled pain. The holy light causing his unnatural flesh to smolder and blister.
"Tell us the truth Lord Diogenes, tell us everything." the priest says calmly
The group of mages that came into the room with the Night Elf turn their heads in disgust at the torture of the prisoner.
"I will tell you!! Please, make it stop!!"
The priest lowers his hands and the glow fades from the room once again. Everyone goes quiet in anticipation. Meanwhile the prisoners skin continues to smoke and sizzle.
"I am waiting Lord Diogenes." the priest says.
The prisoner looks up at the group with tears rolling down his scorched cheeks.
"My name is Diogenes, I was once a mage of the Kirin Tor, before I left the order as a lowly apprentice to search for a cure for the Curse of the Worgen."
"Are you a necromancer?" the Night Elf says as he spits on the marble floor.
"No, I am not!" the prisoner shouts indignantly "I served the Druids at Moonglade, hoping that their mastery of shape shifting would help me control my curse."
The priest steps forward, a faint glow of light coming from him once again.
"How did you end up in Icecrown Citadel?" he says "and by the light you will tell us the truth this time!"
The prisoner flinches in horror. "I was part of an expedition. I entered as Calmfury, a Tauren Druid. We were chasing Lady Sylvanas, of the Forsaken, as she pursued Arthas. Something happened, and I was separated from Calmfury. The expedition was gonna kill me so I fled back down the tunnel from which we came. Then I was rescued by soldiers of the Argent Crusade."
"and how did you become bound to this Tauren Druid?" the Night Elf asks.
The prisoner looks at the Elf with a searing vein of hatred in his eyes. Meanwhile, the assembled onlookers stare at him in anticipation of his answer.
"I used..." the prisoner pauses, knowing his confession is about to ruin him. But, a fear of the searing light is worse than whatever else they can do. "I used unnatural and forbidden powers, that I learned in my time serving my former master." he says quietly and with dread.
A shocked silence falls over the room as the truth of the matter is finally revealed. As the onlookers look at one another the Night Elf stares at the prisoner with disgust.
"Master Ronin" the Night Elf says as he turns to a well dressed human standing at the back of the room. "This necromancer is wanted by Lady Tyrande and Arch Druid Fandrel in Darnassus for the murder of a venerated Elder and for attempting to spread his curse to my people. I demand that we be allowed to return him to answer for these crimes."
The stately mage looks at the elf for a moment and then opens the door and walks out. His entourage of the Kirin Tor council walking out with him.
The elf turns with a flourish to the priest. "Inquisitor Wilkins, prepare the prisoner for his journey." he says with a smile as he turns and follows the group into the hallway.
Outside, stands Ronin, looking out the window at the city of Dalaran far below. Meanwhile, the council walks away in a group down the hallway.
"Theklus, I never said I was turning Lord Diogenes over to you." Ronin says without turning around.
The elf flinches at the words of the Arch Mage.
"But, my Lord Ronin, he is a criminal of the worst sort. He must answer!"
"No Thelkus, he is not. That being in there is not the Diogenes you are after, he is nothing but a duplicate. Brought into being by the Lich Kings foul magics. He is a creature made into flesh from shadow. Nothing more. Trust me, we have seen this kind of thing before."
The Night Elf shakes his head in disbelief. "I don't think I understand." he says slowly.
"If you can't comprehend what I am saying then perhaps it is not given to you to know." Ronin says "Go back to Darnassus and tell your masters that the criminal you seek has not been found."
The Night Elf sneers openly at the mage before bowing and turning to leave.
Ronin stands in the hall alone for a moment, looking out the window. Far beyond the icy mist of the skies of Northrend he sees the dreadful spires of Icecrown Citadel.
"Now, what am I to do with this doppelganger?" he whispers to himself as he turns and strolls slowly down the hall.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
pt 37 The patient assassin always gets her mark
Explosions ring in my ears like a hellish chorus. The grunting and groaning of the wooden deck beneath my feet gives me pause, as burning chunks of metal and debris fall all around me. Across the expanse of the frozen skies of Icecrown I see the grim faces of the dwarves aboard the Skybreaker. They fire and reload their rifles with practiced skill and determination. Behind them stand the grenadiers, working quickly to aim and launch their deadly rockets on the deck of the Ogrim's Hammer. At their command stands the mighty Dwarf known as Muradin Bronzebeard. It is rumored that Muradin was once a close associate of Arthas himself.
"You DARE come aboard my ship!!" Warlord Saurfang shouts as a portal opens up above our heads, and Alliance marines begin jumping into our midst.
Saurfang is the most noble and awe inspiring Orc I have ever met. He commands the Horde forces in their assault on Icecrown Citadel and is subordinate to the wretched Garrosh Hellscream. It was earlier today that I was impressed by Saurfang, and filled with a new hope for the leadership of the Horde. While assaulting the lower halls of the Citadel we heard the echos of Arthas torturing a human by the name of Bolvar. Apparently, this human is a close friend to the King of Stormwind, and Saurfang ordered us to rescue him in order that we may ease the tensions between the Horde and the Alliance.
"Charibdys!! You must focus your heals on Calmfury!" the burly Tauren Shaman by the name of Earthmoon shouts at me above the explosions.
I nearly topple over as the Ogrim's Hammer lurches to one side. Meanwhile, Calmfury launches into the fray, swiping and mauling the human marines with his gore soaked claws.
Suddenly, the cannons aboard our ship burst to life, spraying fire and shot into the hull of the Skybreaker. All the Horde give a rousing cheer as the Alliance ship begins to burst into flame.
Calmfury lets out a roar as the marines slash and cut him with their swords and axes. Though they seem to have little effect on his stubborn hide, I do see blood coming from his wounds.
All this time I have followed him, at the behest of Master Hamuul. To look for any sign of evil corruption that we suspect he is harboring. To decide if there is good in him, or to just kill him in order to hide our shame. I can't help but think how easy it would be to just let the Alliance Marines do the job for me.
"Charibdys!! heal Calmfury! If those marines get loose we are done for!!" Squish screams from across the deck.
One of the marines plunges his sword into the side of the beastly bear, and Calmfury lets out a miserable scream.
I don't know if I have seen good or evil in him. Ever since I found him at the tournament grounds he's been little more than a ghost. Moping about, barely eating, he only becomes animated when there is a fight. It's almost as if he is little more than a mindless zombie, only becoming alive when Squish wants him to.
Calmfury stumbles a bit as blood begins to flow from his deep wounds. He coughs up a wad of foamy blood out of his mouth, and then rises up on his back legs to maul one of the marines.
I feel a hand grab me hard on the shoulder. Spinning around I see the beautiful and sultry Troll shaman Jezi. "Charibdys Mon!! Snap out of eet before yah git dah Calmfury killt!!"
I look her deep in the eyes, and she sees that I have already made my decision not to heal him. Who could blame me? I am tired of fighting. I don't care about Arthas, the Scourge, or this stupid war. I just want to run free, to hear the wind in the trees, and to feel the warmth of the sun.
The ship lurches again as a rocket plows into its side and sets the deck ablaze. I fall on my butt, and sit there as I watch the Marines begin to finish off Calmfury.
"Don't ya be worryin Mon!! I'll heal dah smelly beast mah self" Jezy shouts as she focuses her shamanic healing power. A green arc of electricity leaps from her hands and infuses Calmfury's body with life. I watch in despair as his wounds close up and he leaps back to life.
Another explosion rocks the Ogrim's Hammer. This time it is one of the engines powering the Skybreaker. It bursts into flames sending pieces of metal and wood flying in all directions. The Alliance airship then lurches hard to the side, sending Muradin and his Dwarven riflemen into a panic to find a handhold. Once again the Horde gives a rousing cry of victory.
As the Skybreaker peels away from us we can see that the damage to her hull is immense, much more than we thought. Her crew works hard to get the craft under control and get the fires put out. But, from our perspective it looks as though she is going down.
"What the hell is wrong with you!!" Squish bellows at me as the small little Blood Elf grabs the front of my jerkin. "You stupid Tauren bitch! You almost got us all killed! I brought you along to heal us, not enjoy the scenery."
"Easy Mon, Can't yah see shes been shot? Move aside sos dat I can heal her." Jezi says as she grabs Squish by the shoulder.
I look down at my torso, and sure enough it seems that I caught a bullet in the stomach. Funny, it doesn't even seem to hurt.
"Dere, dats eet, lay yerself down now and let Jezi tend yer wound."
As I lay flat on the deck I suddenly feel a dull, heavy pain in my guts. I can't help but let out a groan.
"Yer lucky tah be alive mah deery." Jezi says as she looks over her shoulder at Squish. "Just gimme a second ta git dat bullet outta yah."
I look across the deck to see Calmfury, still in bear form, eating a lump of bread that he clawed from the bag of a dead marine. He looks at me with his dead, unexpressionate eyes as if he knows what I did but doesn't care.
"By the Ancestors!!" Saurfang exclaims as the Ogrim's Hammer pulls up alongside a balcony at the upper reaches of the Citadel. There stands a hideous looking Orc Deathknight garbed in ornate armor and holding a massive axe.
As all eyes turn to our lone host, he just stands there without a sign of fear.
"My son" Saurfang utters under his breath, just loud enough for us to hear.
I feel a sharp pain followed by gentle relief as Jezi pulls the bullet out of me and focuses her healing magics on me. "Dere yah go Mon, good as new. Now git up, it look like we got a fight commin."
As the crewmen work to secure the airship to the balcony, Saurfang, his Korkron guard and the grizzled veterans of our warband move forward to face our next adversary.
"Join me, father. Join me and we will crush this world in the name of the Scourge. For the glory of the Lich King!" the Deathknight shouts at Saurfang.
Saurfang grimaces for a moment. "My boy died at the Wrathgate. I am here only to collect his body."
Squish looks back at us. "Bloodlust, prepare yourselves. This is gonna get ugly." she says as she grips her shield tightly in one hand and unsheathes her sword.
"You DARE come aboard my ship!!" Warlord Saurfang shouts as a portal opens up above our heads, and Alliance marines begin jumping into our midst.
Saurfang is the most noble and awe inspiring Orc I have ever met. He commands the Horde forces in their assault on Icecrown Citadel and is subordinate to the wretched Garrosh Hellscream. It was earlier today that I was impressed by Saurfang, and filled with a new hope for the leadership of the Horde. While assaulting the lower halls of the Citadel we heard the echos of Arthas torturing a human by the name of Bolvar. Apparently, this human is a close friend to the King of Stormwind, and Saurfang ordered us to rescue him in order that we may ease the tensions between the Horde and the Alliance.
"Charibdys!! You must focus your heals on Calmfury!" the burly Tauren Shaman by the name of Earthmoon shouts at me above the explosions.
I nearly topple over as the Ogrim's Hammer lurches to one side. Meanwhile, Calmfury launches into the fray, swiping and mauling the human marines with his gore soaked claws.
Suddenly, the cannons aboard our ship burst to life, spraying fire and shot into the hull of the Skybreaker. All the Horde give a rousing cheer as the Alliance ship begins to burst into flame.
Calmfury lets out a roar as the marines slash and cut him with their swords and axes. Though they seem to have little effect on his stubborn hide, I do see blood coming from his wounds.
All this time I have followed him, at the behest of Master Hamuul. To look for any sign of evil corruption that we suspect he is harboring. To decide if there is good in him, or to just kill him in order to hide our shame. I can't help but think how easy it would be to just let the Alliance Marines do the job for me.
"Charibdys!! heal Calmfury! If those marines get loose we are done for!!" Squish screams from across the deck.
One of the marines plunges his sword into the side of the beastly bear, and Calmfury lets out a miserable scream.
I don't know if I have seen good or evil in him. Ever since I found him at the tournament grounds he's been little more than a ghost. Moping about, barely eating, he only becomes animated when there is a fight. It's almost as if he is little more than a mindless zombie, only becoming alive when Squish wants him to.
Calmfury stumbles a bit as blood begins to flow from his deep wounds. He coughs up a wad of foamy blood out of his mouth, and then rises up on his back legs to maul one of the marines.
I feel a hand grab me hard on the shoulder. Spinning around I see the beautiful and sultry Troll shaman Jezi. "Charibdys Mon!! Snap out of eet before yah git dah Calmfury killt!!"
I look her deep in the eyes, and she sees that I have already made my decision not to heal him. Who could blame me? I am tired of fighting. I don't care about Arthas, the Scourge, or this stupid war. I just want to run free, to hear the wind in the trees, and to feel the warmth of the sun.
The ship lurches again as a rocket plows into its side and sets the deck ablaze. I fall on my butt, and sit there as I watch the Marines begin to finish off Calmfury.
"Don't ya be worryin Mon!! I'll heal dah smelly beast mah self" Jezy shouts as she focuses her shamanic healing power. A green arc of electricity leaps from her hands and infuses Calmfury's body with life. I watch in despair as his wounds close up and he leaps back to life.
Another explosion rocks the Ogrim's Hammer. This time it is one of the engines powering the Skybreaker. It bursts into flames sending pieces of metal and wood flying in all directions. The Alliance airship then lurches hard to the side, sending Muradin and his Dwarven riflemen into a panic to find a handhold. Once again the Horde gives a rousing cry of victory.
As the Skybreaker peels away from us we can see that the damage to her hull is immense, much more than we thought. Her crew works hard to get the craft under control and get the fires put out. But, from our perspective it looks as though she is going down.
"What the hell is wrong with you!!" Squish bellows at me as the small little Blood Elf grabs the front of my jerkin. "You stupid Tauren bitch! You almost got us all killed! I brought you along to heal us, not enjoy the scenery."
"Easy Mon, Can't yah see shes been shot? Move aside sos dat I can heal her." Jezi says as she grabs Squish by the shoulder.
I look down at my torso, and sure enough it seems that I caught a bullet in the stomach. Funny, it doesn't even seem to hurt.
"Dere, dats eet, lay yerself down now and let Jezi tend yer wound."
As I lay flat on the deck I suddenly feel a dull, heavy pain in my guts. I can't help but let out a groan.
"Yer lucky tah be alive mah deery." Jezi says as she looks over her shoulder at Squish. "Just gimme a second ta git dat bullet outta yah."
I look across the deck to see Calmfury, still in bear form, eating a lump of bread that he clawed from the bag of a dead marine. He looks at me with his dead, unexpressionate eyes as if he knows what I did but doesn't care.
"By the Ancestors!!" Saurfang exclaims as the Ogrim's Hammer pulls up alongside a balcony at the upper reaches of the Citadel. There stands a hideous looking Orc Deathknight garbed in ornate armor and holding a massive axe.
As all eyes turn to our lone host, he just stands there without a sign of fear.
"My son" Saurfang utters under his breath, just loud enough for us to hear.
I feel a sharp pain followed by gentle relief as Jezi pulls the bullet out of me and focuses her healing magics on me. "Dere yah go Mon, good as new. Now git up, it look like we got a fight commin."
As the crewmen work to secure the airship to the balcony, Saurfang, his Korkron guard and the grizzled veterans of our warband move forward to face our next adversary.
"Join me, father. Join me and we will crush this world in the name of the Scourge. For the glory of the Lich King!" the Deathknight shouts at Saurfang.
Saurfang grimaces for a moment. "My boy died at the Wrathgate. I am here only to collect his body."
Squish looks back at us. "Bloodlust, prepare yourselves. This is gonna get ugly." she says as she grips her shield tightly in one hand and unsheathes her sword.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
pt 36 To Icecrown.. *explicit*
The two figures lay entwined in the dark room. Their sweaty bodies locked in a love embrace, panting and growling at one another like animals. It has been like this for hours. Neither one of them has slept this night, instead focusing their primal passion in the act of love making.
As the intensity of their act rises, the woman begins to moan loudly. Her muscular body spasm as she grips the fur blanket of their bed tightly. Sweat runs across her pale green skin in rivulets as her man pounds violently on top of her. Suddenly, she lets out a scream and her back arches in a powerful climax. The power of the moment seems to send the entire world into a spin. Then, the pair of lovers collapse in a musky heap. Their ruddy bodies still locked in loves embrace.
Silence falls across the room as the paint of dawn begins to seep into the shuttered window.
"You are a beast. I haven't been loved like dat since before Mount Hyjal." the woman says in a lusty voice.
The hulking orc man smiles through his gleaming tusks.
"Felika, I have never met a woman such as you in all of Draenor." he says and he runs his hand lovingly across her bald head.
The pair smile at one another and exchange a passionate embrace.
"Orkimedes, eet will be dawn soon and I haf ta eat sometin and then head out to da Drag to sell my goods. Can you join me fa dinner again tonight?" Felika says with a wink and a sly smile.
The ancient shaman sighs and sits up in bed as he pulls his white hair back into a ponytail.
"I don't know what I am gonna do Felika. I need to find out what is going on and soon. The spirits of our ancestors cry out to me, but I am at a loss as to what the problem is."
Felika stands up and strides across the room. Her shapely nude body silhouetted against the trickle of dawn coming through the shutters. She picks up a cup and a pitcher, fills the cup, and takes a long drink of whatever wine was left from dinner.
"You said dat you suspect sometin is happenin to dese Gruntlins?" she says as she refills the cup, and hands it to the shaman.
"Yes, I have seen some of them in town with some suspicious injuries. However, Eitrigg thinks it is just from the rigors of being an apprentice." Orkimedes sigh and sits deep in thought for a moment. "I am thinking about going to Icecrown to figure out how these soldiers are earning the right to possess a Gruntling."
"I have been dere" Felika says as she picks up a slice of leftover meat from the table "eets de only place I can find gray dye. Anyway, eets not a nice place, you should forget about eet and stay ere wit me." she smiles lustily through her tusks as she takes a bite of the roasted boar.
"You insatiable she wolf!" Orkimedes smiles broadly back at her. "No, I have to do something. Besides, I'll only be gone for a few days at most. There will be plenty of time for trying to satisfy you when I return."
The white haired shaman stands up from the bed and grabs his red tunic. As he pulls it over his head, Felika sits down at the table and pours some more wine.
"hehe maybe eef you got a gruntling of yer own you could have him elp me out sellin trade goods on da Drag"
Orkimedes snorts at her. "I doubt that Thrall intended for these Gruntlings to be used as slave labor when he brought them out of the orphanages for the Argent Crusade."
As he picks up his bulging backpack from the corner the sultry orc woman stands up from the table and grabs him aggressively with her strong arms.
"Okay, ye can go but youd better be careful over dere. If you play yer cards right Ill make you mah husband wheen you come back." she says as she buries her face in his broad chest.
The shaman smiles and once again gently runs his hand across her shiny, bald head.
The pair hold one another for a moment before releasing their passionate embrace. Then, without saying a word or shedding a tear, he walks out of the hovel and departs into the streets of Orgrimmar.
With any luck the zeppelin to Northrend will be arriving soon.
As the intensity of their act rises, the woman begins to moan loudly. Her muscular body spasm as she grips the fur blanket of their bed tightly. Sweat runs across her pale green skin in rivulets as her man pounds violently on top of her. Suddenly, she lets out a scream and her back arches in a powerful climax. The power of the moment seems to send the entire world into a spin. Then, the pair of lovers collapse in a musky heap. Their ruddy bodies still locked in loves embrace.
Silence falls across the room as the paint of dawn begins to seep into the shuttered window.
"You are a beast. I haven't been loved like dat since before Mount Hyjal." the woman says in a lusty voice.
The hulking orc man smiles through his gleaming tusks.
"Felika, I have never met a woman such as you in all of Draenor." he says and he runs his hand lovingly across her bald head.
The pair smile at one another and exchange a passionate embrace.
"Orkimedes, eet will be dawn soon and I haf ta eat sometin and then head out to da Drag to sell my goods. Can you join me fa dinner again tonight?" Felika says with a wink and a sly smile.
The ancient shaman sighs and sits up in bed as he pulls his white hair back into a ponytail.
"I don't know what I am gonna do Felika. I need to find out what is going on and soon. The spirits of our ancestors cry out to me, but I am at a loss as to what the problem is."
Felika stands up and strides across the room. Her shapely nude body silhouetted against the trickle of dawn coming through the shutters. She picks up a cup and a pitcher, fills the cup, and takes a long drink of whatever wine was left from dinner.
"You said dat you suspect sometin is happenin to dese Gruntlins?" she says as she refills the cup, and hands it to the shaman.
"Yes, I have seen some of them in town with some suspicious injuries. However, Eitrigg thinks it is just from the rigors of being an apprentice." Orkimedes sigh and sits deep in thought for a moment. "I am thinking about going to Icecrown to figure out how these soldiers are earning the right to possess a Gruntling."
"I have been dere" Felika says as she picks up a slice of leftover meat from the table "eets de only place I can find gray dye. Anyway, eets not a nice place, you should forget about eet and stay ere wit me." she smiles lustily through her tusks as she takes a bite of the roasted boar.
"You insatiable she wolf!" Orkimedes smiles broadly back at her. "No, I have to do something. Besides, I'll only be gone for a few days at most. There will be plenty of time for trying to satisfy you when I return."
The white haired shaman stands up from the bed and grabs his red tunic. As he pulls it over his head, Felika sits down at the table and pours some more wine.
"hehe maybe eef you got a gruntling of yer own you could have him elp me out sellin trade goods on da Drag"
Orkimedes snorts at her. "I doubt that Thrall intended for these Gruntlings to be used as slave labor when he brought them out of the orphanages for the Argent Crusade."
As he picks up his bulging backpack from the corner the sultry orc woman stands up from the table and grabs him aggressively with her strong arms.
"Okay, ye can go but youd better be careful over dere. If you play yer cards right Ill make you mah husband wheen you come back." she says as she buries her face in his broad chest.
The shaman smiles and once again gently runs his hand across her shiny, bald head.
The pair hold one another for a moment before releasing their passionate embrace. Then, without saying a word or shedding a tear, he walks out of the hovel and departs into the streets of Orgrimmar.
With any luck the zeppelin to Northrend will be arriving soon.
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