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.