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."

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.

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."

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."

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.