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A minor note before you read this story. First off, my knowledge of the geography of World of Warcraft is not great; so many places may be inaccurately described, or completely unnamed. The parts of the story in italics are the writings of an individual, though that individual may change throughout the story. Double quotations (“) are around what a person is saying out loud, while single quotations (‘) are around what a person is thinking. Finally, I did only learn English a few years ago, so please bear with me.
This story is rated PG-13 with a violence warning
Prologue
Tales are often told of the actions of others. Tales of men killing Orcs, Orcs killing men, and the vanquishing of evil. Some of these tales are never written down, though. They are forgotten, blown away from memory like grains of sand from a beach. Even less recorded and more easily forgotten are the tales that do not end with the vanquishing of evil. Tales of sadness and suffering with no end in sight are never told, never heard, never remembered.
I am of the Forsaken. My life is one of unending despair. I wish for death, but to take one’s own life would be against the laws given to us by Pata. I only ask that the God hears my pleas- give me one final battle, a great one. One worthy of song and memory, and welcome me into your house.
Also, and far more importantly, watch over my beloved. Keep her and my unborn child safe, Pata.
Thrak put those final words down and slid the volume back into his pocket. The words were faint from a lack of ink, but he had left his final message. He could only hope that whoever found his journal would use it well.
“Nothing is more important to an Orc then to be remembered, save for welcoming by Pata,” he said aloud, though he knew none would hear him. In the desert wastes of Kalimdor, very few people live, and none of them travel at night.
An itching sensation came from his chest. Reaching through his shattered ribcage, he pulled out the offending object. “Bloody carpet beetle,” he grunted, throwing the creature into the fire.
Fire. What a waste of wood, such a limited commodity in these parts. “I should have realized. The dead are always cold.”
He gazed upon his surroundings with his dulled vision, taking note of the empty liquor bottles on the ground. Were it not for the oppressing sadness that came with undeath, he would have laughed. “It is far too late for you to drown your sins and sorrows in ale,” he all but chuckled to himself. There was one bottle left, but he decided not to bother with it, sliding it back into the inner pocket of his frayed leather armour.
Lying back away from the dying embers, Thrak drifted off into thought. Thoughts of his unborn son or daughter; though a son to continue his line would be preferred.
‘How had it come to this,’ he thought. ‘There was a time when I was alive, a warrior, an Orc among Orcs. When Pata’s blessings smiled on me. And now, I am worse then dead; I am undead. I am scum amongst my own kindred, and no longer welcome in the home I vowed to defend with my life.’
And so, Thrak, the undead Orc lay back against a stump, and remembered how it all began.
***
Chapter 1
And Cudguel said, “My son is strong, but he shall never be stronger than I.” And so Cudguel raised his hammer to vanquish he of his flesh; but lo, Pata struck with his knife, and gullied his cruel father. As the blood of evil drenched the land, all life died, and the deserts of Draenor grew where once his fathers chosen people lived. And thus Pata chose his own people, and he said unto them, “You shall be thy chosen race. You shall seek true honour on the field of Battle. You shall be called a name that shall be known as meaning true warrior to the end of all days. You shall be called Orcs."
-The Legends of the Orcish Hordes, as transcribed by Henry Dumont of the 49th Guard
The city of Orgrimmar was the new home of the Orcs, and it was within these walls that Thrak was born.
He was born the son of a butcher. His father was everything that the humans believed the Orcs to be- large and strong, even by Orc standards, he was an abusive drunk, and loved nothing more then beating Thrak. Many a time, Thrak hid himself up in the attic, letting his bruises heal and his bones knit.
Thrak’s life was nightmarish. He could not understand what he had done to deserve such treatment. Even harder to understand was why his mother or brothers refused to aid him. ‘They have the power to end this. Why don’t they!?’ Though this thought echoed through his head, he would never voice it. It was too dangerous to show weakness in his house.
He trusted no one, save for his sisters. The one who was older then him was known as Griska, and the one that was younger then him was known as Sachi. They tended his wounds when he was injured, and snuck him food when he was locked in his closet. They sang him songs, and treated him like he was worth something.
Thrak knew he suffered badly, but when he learned of the nightmares his sisters lived, he was horrified. Griska had suffered from a far different kind of abuse from their father. It was appalling; he dared break the Divine Laws of Pata for his baser desires. And yet his mother and brothers did nothing.
“They are just as guilty as father, and you know that!” Thrak shouted. Griska let out a frustrated sigh. She had tried to defend their mother and brothers once again. She had tried to explain that they suffered as they did, and were as much the victims of their father’s abuses. It was hopeless, though.
“Mother can’t do anything to help us. She wants to, but she can’t!”
“Really? Does father beat her?”
“Thrak…”
“Answer the question.”
“Thrak, please…”
“Answer the Question!” Thrak’s fist slammed on the table, shattering one of the legs. ‘He has inherited father’s strength,’ Griska thought, ‘and his anger.’
“No, he doesn’t beat mother.” Griska hated giving in to her brother, but he would not be swayed. Tears swelled behind her grey eyes. Thrak regretted his anger, but he still intended to persuade her of the truth.
“Griska,” Thrak started, placing his hand upon her shoulder, “I know this is hard for you to accept. You want to have hope that they are innocent of these acts, and that they don’t save you because they can’t. But the truth is they can, but they don’t. We are on our own.”
A creak echoed from the doorway. Thrak looked up, expecting the worst, but was relieved to see it was only Sachi. Tears of terror filled her eyes. She did not know what there was to fear from their father, but she knew to be afraid. ‘She is so young,’ Thrak thought gloomily, ‘but Griska was that age when father began on her.’
Thrak waved his younger sister over. He knelt down to look her in the eye, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb, and said to her something she will never forget: “Sachi, listen to me. I swear that I will defend you from him, no matter what the cost.”
***
Before you read this chapter, I have brought in a currency system. International currency is quite simple; 100 coppers equal 1 brass, 100 brass equal 1 silver, 100 silvers equal 1 gold. Also, I will be using several terms such as ingots, marks, notes, and issics. These are going to be local terms for money, each equivalent to 1 gold coin. Dwarf money is much more specific. Each coin will have a title, such as 2/4 silver. This means that for every 2 parts impurities in a coin, there are four parts silver. 0/4 means that the coin is pure.
Also, you remember when I rated this story for its violence. Well, here it is. I must warn you, I watch a lot of CSI, so I went into the same level of description. This means that this next segment is extremely violent. If you don’t like violence, don’t read this. Although I would like to point out the fact that there is cannibalism in many of the undead stories.
So, you have decided to keep reading. Okay, but I did warn you.
Chapter 2
Throwing his warblade to the ground, the chief yelled “What is it Pata, that I have done to be refused entrance to eternity. I have slain many foes, I myself died on the field of battle. I have made sacrifices, and built new altars in your name. So what is it that I have done.” And lo, the sky darkened and thundered, the air grew thick, and the water to blood. And lo, Pata stepped down from the immortal sky, wrapped in great chains, and he spoke “You have dishonoured yourself, and so cannot enter eternity.” “What is it that I have done to encourage your wrath?” The chief said. Pata spoke with a voice that echoed thunder “You have known your daughter, and for that you are damned. Your soul shall wander Draenor for eternity. It shall rot while your spirit still lives. It shall be hunted by demons, and fed upon by wraiths.” The chief tried to save himself “But Pata, you have never told anyone this divine law, therefore, how can I be blamed for a crime I did not know I committed.” And lo, the words of the chief enraged Pata further. Draenor shook, mountains cracked into great canyons, rivers changed course, and the oceans boiled. Pata spoke in a voice that made the chief weep in fear and unholy despair “I should not have to tell you that such an act is wrong.”
-The Legends of the Orcish Horde as transcribed by Henry Dumont of the 49th Guard
Times were hard for the butcher shop. With his father selling inferior meats and swiping money from the till for rum, Thrak found it quite hard to keep business going. And it was these thoughts on his mind as he looked over the ledger.
‘Cost of beef is now at 28 issics from 14.’ Thrak shook his head. The drought had dried the river, leaving numerous herds without water. And now the price had doubled.
‘I can safely raise the price of beef to a half issic a cut. That would mean the profits would drop,’ Thrak reached for a long scroll on the edge of his old desk, ‘by 23%. Subtract the average weekly wastage,’ Thrak always referred to his father’s theft as wastage, ‘and we’ll be… over 100 issics in debt before the month is out.’
Thrak let out a soft string of swears, mostly against the Goblin beef merchants. Thrak had had to deal with being in debt before, but never to this extent. He was so deeply in thought that he didn’t even notice Griska until she spoke to him.
“It’s been done,” she said so softly that for a moment Thrak though he had imagined the voice. Turning to his sister, he saw the tears in her eyes. Thrak stood up, fear clutching his heart.
“Father went to Sachi.” Her breathing became ragged. “He…” She could say no more. Grabbing onto the door frame, she slid tearfully to the floor.
Thrak shook with anger. Grabbing the large cutting knife from the table, he went to walk out the door. Griska grabbed the cuff of his coat sleeve. “By Pata’s breath, what are you doing?”
“I promised Sachi I would protect her, and I failed.” Silent tears streamed down Thrak’s face. “To preserve my honour, I must end the life of the monster who did this to her.”
“Thrak, he’ll kill you!” Griska shouted. “You’re only 10 years of age, and not even half his height! Besides, you are only a boy. I’m sure Pata would forgive you.”
“But could I forgive myself?”
Thrak yanked back his arm, and stormed upstairs, leaving Griska in tears. ‘My sister is in a living nightmare, and now my brother goes to his death.’
Thrak found his father in the hallway, passed out from rum. Hatred unheard of echoed through Thrak. There was no hesitation on his part.
He ran the knife across his father’s throat, deep and straight. The spray struck Thrak, and the walls. A pool began to spread along the floor, and Thrak watched in grim satisfaction as his father’s eyes opened, and he realized he was drowning in his own blood.
As life left his father’s eyes, Thrak dropped the knife, and vomited on the floor. He heard a squeak echo from two sides. His sister, Griska stood at the top of the stairs, one hand over her mouth. The squeak from the other side was Sachi, bruised and beaten. Old tears, nearly dried clung to her face, and the same grim satisfaction decorated her face as well.
Thrak looked at both of them, and stood to his full height. Despite being five years younger then Griska, he towered over both of them. Griska’s eyes widened as she heard Thrak speak in a deep commanding voice she had never heard before:
“Pack lightly. We’re leaving.”
Last edited by Tor varr; 23-05-2006 at 11:19 PM..
Reason: Misspelled words
I was somewhat disappointed that my thread disappeared, because it had been labeled a "hot thread," but on the plus side, I managed to make some corrections that I couldn't have made before.
Trolls are an inferior race. Their culture is limited and barbaric, their people are hideous, and their magics overrated. They are without honour, and without guile. So why do you bother me with such notions as the idea that trolls are the progenitors of elves? These creatures are worthy of nothing more then extinction.
- A letter to the head of the Archaeology department from Lord Ravenclaw of the 3rd Archery Brigade.
The steady sound of chopping filled the air, along with the scent of rotting fish, and the ceaseless screeching of sea birds. Standing on the wharf looking out over the water was a young troll. His hands had blistered from years of hard labour, and his back was so used to the hot sun that he never burned.
“Tor varr! Quit your lolly-gagging and get back to work. We have to get these fish barrelled and salted before the trade vessel gets here.” Tor varr quickly began to chop again. ‘Until the day I die,’ he though glumly, ‘I will never figure out how a blind tauren shaman knows when I’m not working.’
The Tauren he spoke of was indeed blind. His sight had been lost in the War of the Burning Legion. The stubborn old shaman would not let that slow him down, though. For Tor varr, the capabilities of this blind man were rather unnerving.
As he chopped the heads off of the days catch, Tor varr looked across the water. Cormorants dove for their feed of fish, while gulls searched the shores for unwatched pieces of food. Both had to be quick, because the cruel and persistent Frigate birds were always watching. Tor varr let out a deep sigh, and inhaled deeply. ‘What’s that?’
Sniffing a few more times, Tor varr definitely noticed something out there. ‘Orcs, two, no three of them. One has the perfume of an infant, so no more then five. The other has the musk of an adult. Fifteen at least. The other,’ Tor varr thought hard on this one, ‘is a male, between the other two in terms of age. He reeks of blood.’
“Tor varr, I told you quit slacking!” The shaman was up on his feet, feeling his way towards Tor varr.
“There are people out there. Three orcs, two female and one male.” Sniffing deeply, “They are hungry; I would say they haven’t eaten in about three days.”
The shaman sniffed the air. “I don’t smell anything.” Tor varr wrinkled his nose in disgust. Nothing has a sense of smell like a troll, especially not a Tauren. ‘Unless it’s baking bread or fresh water, it might as well be invisible to them.’
Tor varr opened his mouth to speak, but the shaman beat him to the punch. “Go and see who our visitors are. Take a weapon. If they prove hostile, kill them.”
Last edited by Tor varr; 08-06-2006 at 06:58 PM..
Reason: Spelling errors
Thrak breathed deeply as he walked across the hot sands of the sea. He was tired, but knew that if anyone was worse off then him it would be Sachi. She had to take two strides to Thrak’s one. She was no doubt exhausted.
A growl came from Thrak’s empty stomach, but he ignored it. They had run out of food several days ago, and had been living on what wildlife Thrak could catch. Unfortunately, he hadn’t caught anything for a couple days. ‘Hunger, thirst and heat, all the while pursued by countless tormentors. This could not get much worse.’
“We should rest awhile, Thrak.” He looked over at Griska, who gestured towards Sachi. Nodding slightly, he pointed at a stand of trees. The three orcs made their way over to them, and lied down in the shade.
Sachi took the water sac and had a swallow. Looking at the sac, she said “There isn’t much water left.” Thrak had known their supplies were running low, and now they were nearly without water. He could almost have laughed. His people prided themselves on their great strength and durability when compared to another race like the humans, and yet these gifts were what were going to kill them. Because of their increased muscle mass, the increased thickness of the skin and their increased bone density, Orcs required a great deal more food and water then humans. ‘To think that our strengths will be our downfall.’
Thrak felt a hand hit his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Griska looking further south down the shore. “I can see smoke.” Thrak glanced in the direction she pointed, and saw the thin plumes. “I think we should go there, and restock our supplies.”
Thrak was a little more wary. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? We don’t know who they are, or what they will do to us. If we are recognized…”
“Oh, for Pata’s sake, Thrak,” Griska started “We haven’t seen a single Orc since we left Orgrimmar. I don’t think their following us.”
Thrak was not wholly convinced. Sachi spoke softly to him, “We have no food or water. Two more days of this, and we’ll be dead. Don’t worry Thrak, you can protect us.” Thrak smiled at her gentle words. Griska thought ‘Thrak is more a father to her then our birth father.’
After a few moments of wrestling with his thoughts, Thrak stood up. “Alright, we’ll go to this village to re-supply. But if there is even a hint of trouble, I want both of you to run, and don’t look back.” Sachi and Griska both nodded, and rose as well. As the three turned towards the village, a voice came from behind them:
Nice work Tor varr. The writing is very clean. Not just from a grammaitcal/spelling stance but also clear sentence make-up leads to a very smooth read. I really like it.
I have even less suggestions for you, just one. I'd break up your asides to the audience as well as each chapter into its own post. You have the authors foreword, the prelude, chapter 1 and chapter 2 all in one post. It's not a big deal but going back to reread something is easier when reader has divisions between story and sidenotes (as well as chapters). Your chapters are pretty short so far so not really an isssue now but may become one down the road.
You speak so poorly of the trollish race that it is of little wonder that they distrust the elves so. Their magics have proven time and time again to be dangerous and powerful. Their culture is brilliant and vibrant, and in matters of guile, there are few who can exceed them. And so, I will not consider the opinions of a man of such unbridled bias and ignorance. To even listen to your opinions is a waste of my time and your limited intelligence.
- A letter to Lord Ravenclaw from Marcus Sorellius, Head of the Azerothian Archaeology department.
Tor varr ran towards the scent of the orcs until he felt he was getting close. Once their scent was strong enough, he dropped to his hands and feet, creeping silently through the brush. Not a twig broke or a leave rustled with his passing. Tor varr smiled, ‘I guess I haven’t lost my touch.’
He moved towards the orcs as quickly as stealth would allow. With each movement, he could hear his father’s words in his mind. ‘Keep yourself low and silent; let not a creature take notice of your passing. Keep the wind in your face, lest your prey catch your scent. Never sacrifice stealth for speed. What good does it do you to arrive at your prey that much more quickly only to have it aware of your presence and ready to defend itself?’
Of course, these orcs were not what you would call prey. Even so, his father’s words held truth in them. He did not know what these orcs wanted, or who they were. It would be wise to err on the side of caution.
Tor varr stopped short as the spear strapped to his back was caught in the brush. Cursing his negative fortune, he quickly untangled himself. Taking a sniff, he realized the orcs were very close; in fact, he could here the sand crunching beneath their feet. He held steady behind a rather thorny bush, intent on getting a better look at them. When at last his eyes fell upon them, he openly gasped.
Before him were three of the most pitiful looking orcs he had ever laid eyes on. All three were rather thin and gaunt, the male worst of all. The slack sacks on their backs stank of old food, and the way they rustled in the breeze was good evidence that they had emptied a long time ago.
He was definitely right about the eldest female. The heady musk of an adult wafted off her form. Tor varr smiled a little at this. Many of the other races often complained about the foul smell coming off the orcs bodies, and yet the orcs were rather attracted to them. The orcs denied the power these pheromones had over them, but it did not take an intellectual to notice that the orcs with the strongest musk were the most sought after by others of their kind.
He had also been right about the younger female’s age as well, but now was not so certain about the male. His nose told him he was between the two in age, but his eyes saw a far different picture. He was taller by at least a head then both females. He was broad in the shoulders, and his deep brown eyes spoke lifetimes of experience. Though his head never shifted position, his eyes constantly moved, always aware of his surroundings. It was his shirt that Tor varr found most interesting, though. It was stained with a great deal of blood. Sniffing, Tor varr sensed the blood of the male orc, a gnoll, various small animals of the ocean shore, and one final scent… definitely orcish, another male. With a shock, Tor varr realized that the similarities in scent were no small coincidence. ‘The orc is stained with the blood of a male relative.’
Each was clearly armed. The small girl had a knife strapped to her side, and the older female had a larger knife in her belt and a small one in her boot. The male was by far the most heavily armed, with at least four blades Tor varr could see, and Jaggoruth knew how many he couldn’t see. Despite all of this, what had made Tor varr gasp were the extensive injuries each bore.
They had all been savagely beaten. Both females bore old bruises still yellow on their faces, and the younger had a broken tusk. It was the male who seemed the worst off. His nose had clearly been broken many times over, and his jaw seemed a touch out of line with the rest of his head. He also bore many wicked scars, as well as what appeared to be a rather fresh Gnoll bite. His hands bore the many small cuts of one who has had a hard life, and his eyes clearly spoke to it. It was then that Tor varr heard the orcs speaking. He strained his ears to listen:
“Not marc luk tora, Thrak.” The eldest female spoke. The male nodded and pointed to a stand of trees. The three sat, and continued talking.
The younger female said “Net clut mok trin clomok drun.” Tor varr sat in puzzlement as now the eldest female spoke. “Mukka not maod cgun. Mek thuk louke chivak, sok chorum bac choor.”
Tor varr shook his head. ‘What an ugly and crude sounding language the orcs have.’ It was only know that Tor varr had a thought. ‘What if they don’t speak trollish?’ Tor varr did not know a word of orcish. ‘There are trolls in Orgrimmar. Surely the orcs had to learn some trollish.’ Even with this thought, Tor varr was still unsure of how to proceed. How could he talk to those he could not understand?
Tor varr now realized that the three orcs were rising. Cursing his lack of attention, he decided to risk talking to them. After all, the orcs and trolls were allies.
He crept out of his hiding place, still moving with his limbs sprawled out like a reptile until he was at last behind the three orcs. Standing to his full height, he asked “Who are you?”
Tor varr barely ducked to avoid the meat cleaver that came at his head.
Last edited by Tor varr; 14-06-2006 at 11:31 PM..
Reason: Forgot a word
Why should we not kill them? They are our enemies, and Jaggoruth rewards those who kill their enemies.
- The troll captain Tol’jin when told by the Orc general Culuk not to slay the children and pregnant women in a village.
Tor varr drew the spear from his back. ‘Misunderstanding or not, I do not intend to die just yet.’ He did not even aim, for he heard the male and elder female arguing.
Spinning the male by the shoulder, she shouted, “Nek tull thur moka drub, Thrak!”
“Usaiga nugga thikmuk,” the male Orc shouted back. Tor varr may not have known Orcish, but he could easily figure out what argument was taking place. The female was angry that this male, Thrak unless he was mistaken, tried to kill him, and he was trying to justify his actions.
“Trimak kul mik thar!”
“Nug tol mar chiv, colo mask ak!”
“Nig vask!”
“Chorok bill karrak tull!” The female’s last remark seemed to have at last changed the male’s opinion of him. ‘Maybe now I can show him that I mean him no harm.’ Tor varr whistled to grab their attention. The three Orcs looked at him, and Tor varr drove the end of the spear into the sand, leaving him unarmed. “I mean you no harm. I am from the village up ahead, and was sent by the Shaman to see who you were. Now, please tell me at least one of you speaks Trollish.”
The three Orcs looked somewhat confused, but at last the elder female spoke up, “Me do.” The male and younger female both seemed a touch shocked that the elder female knew trollish, but Tor varr had a great deal of ground to cover before he could worry about that. “I’m glad at least one of you speaks trollish, because I don’t know a word of Orcish. My name is Tor varr. And you would be?”
“Me called Griska. Dis be me brother Thrak, and me sister Sachi.”
“You know, you should say I instead of me. It would make you sound more intelligent.”
The female seemed a little taken aback that a troll she had only met moments ago was correcting her grammar, but she did not say anything about it.
“Now that I know who you are, why don’t you tell me why you are here.”
“Me… I and me family left Orgrimmar some time ago. We need to refill our supplies.”
Tor varr felt that there was some significance attached to his next question: “Why did you leave Orgrimmar?”
The female’s eyes widened and she spoke in Orcish to the male. They both spoke so quickly that Tor varr could not catch a word. Even the younger female seemed unable to comprehend all that was being said.
Letting out a sigh of frustration, Tor varr took a drink from his water sac. ‘This is ridiculous,’ he thought to himself. Leaving the two Orcs to argue about it, he went and sat down in the shade. ‘It is much too hot to stand in the blazing sun for hours on end. At least the chopping tables have a tarp over them.’
As he sat there, the younger female came over and sat next to him. Tor varr gave her a glance. She looked so innocent from afar, but her eyes spoke of past horrors, current nightmares, and an unshakable resilience. And yet, despite all she must have gone through, she still stared at him with the innate curiosity of all children. Tor varr decided to try and communicate with her, “Sachi?”
Giggling at his pronunciation of her name, she pointed at him and said “Ter varg.” Tor varr chuckled at that. Pointing at himself, he said “Tor varr.” The young Orc female spoke it slowly, “Torr varrr.” She was still a little too long with the rs, but she was closer then she was before. Tor varr tried to pronounce her name again and met with less success and a good deal of laughter. Two or three more tries later, he pronounced it to her satisfaction. Taking a deep drink from his water sac, he looked at the small girl. She looked thin before, but now that he was close enough, Tor varr realized that he could see her ribs through the holes in her shirt. He drew some jerky from his pocket and held it out to her.
She looked at the food in his hands, and then looked at him. ‘Talk about a lack of trust,’ Tor varr thought as he broke off and ate a piece to prove it wasn’t poisoned. Once she saw him swallow his mouthful, she snatched the food from his hand and tore into it. Tor varr was a bit surprised at this, but didn’t say anything. Before he could blink, she had eaten the entire amount of jerky. She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with gratitude. “Dat mukl far, Trr var.” He smiled once again, ‘we have a long way to go before she can pronounce my name.’
The sun was nearing the horizon, and the two elder Orcs kept arguing. ‘All right, I’ve had enough of this,’ Tor varr thought as he rose up. Walking over to them, he reached out and slapped them both. The two Orcs were taken aback by this, and simply looked at the troll.
“Okay, enough of this. We’ve been here for hours. Save for a mouthful of jerky, I haven’t eaten since sun rise. It’s very hot out, and unlike you Orcs I can’t sweat to cool off. Doubtless the shaman is wondering where we are, and if I don’t return soon, he’ll send out a search party, and trust me when I say they will be ready for a fight. If you don’t want to tell me why you left Orgrimmar, fine, don’t tell me. I really don’t care anymore, but I warn you, you will have to tell someone eventually. Now, are you going to come into the village, or not?”
The female seemed a touch stunned at his remarks, and translated this for the male. They talked back and forth quickly, and at last the female, Griska, said “We will come into the village.”
“Fine, then let’s go,” Tor varr said, grabbing his spear and walking towards the village.
Last edited by Tor varr; 04-07-2006 at 10:09 PM..
Reason: Grammar errors
Speak the truth, or make your peace some other way.
- Sully Erna, a human vocalist
As they entered the village behind this strange troll, Thrak felt somewhat uneasy. True, this was what he had decided, but he had been hoping to keep a low profile inside the village. Entering in such a way drew a lot of stares from the local populace. Everywhere Thrak looked he saw trolls, Taurens and a couple of Orcs. The large dock on the water had a few warships moored in its harbour, a handful of fishing vessels and one very large trading vessel. He noticed the Troll leading the three of them towards the vessel.
As he got closer, Thrak could at last read its name. The ship was the Naga Beater. ‘Interesting name for a ship,’ Thrak thought. He at last saw that the troll was not taking them to the ship, but to the old Tauren by the ship. The creamy colouring of his eyes told Thrak that the man was blind. He heard him arguing with the captain of the ship over the price of the fish.
“Anything less then 4 ingots a barrel is an insult. The fish would not even be worth dragging out of the sea for anything less.”
The captain of the ship, an old weather beaten troll, said “Look mon, ja market be flooded wit da fishes, ookey. When dere be more product den demand, prices drop. If I pay joo 4 ingots a barrel, I would be broke in a month. Ja best I can do is to pay joo 2 ingots a barrel and not a coin more.”
“Make it 2 ingots and 50 silver, and you have yourself a deal.”
“Joo be deaf, mon,” the troll said. Thinking for a moment, the troll at last said “I can pay joo 2 ingots and 25 silver.”
“For the sake of our friendship, let’s make it 2 ingots and 30 silver.”
Shaking his head, the troll said “Remind me to no trade mounts wit joo, eh, Bloodback?” The two shook hands and the work began. The sailors began to unload the ship of textiles, spices, etc, and began to barter with the local merchants. At the same time, the fishermen began to load the barrels of salted fish, while two people kept count of the barrels.
The Tauren turned to Tor varr and his companions, and said “Are these the three Orcs you spoke of, Tor varr.” Thrak’s eyes widened; leaning close to Griska, he said “How did a blind man know that?” “I have no idea,” Griska admitted to her brother.
“Yes, these are the three Orcs that I scented earlier,” the troll said.
Turning towards him, Thrak said “Why didn’t you tell me you speak Tauren. I know that language.”
“To be honest, I never even thought that you would know the Tauren tongue,” the troll admitted.
“How come you don’t have an accent like the other trolls?” Thrak inquired.
“Because when I taught him my language, I trained him not to have an accent. Let me warn you, though, if he isn’t paying attention the accent will come out. It takes a conscious effort not to have the trollish accent,” The old shaman said. Looking right at Thrak with his cold, dead eyes, he said “Now who are you three?”
“My name is Thrak, and these are my sisters Griska and Sachi. We came from Orgrimmar, and our supplies have run out. We need food and rest before we are on our way.” Thrak tried to explain their predicament as best he could without leaving an opening for the question he feared. Of course, you can’t run forever.
“Why did you leave Orgrimmar?”
Cursing, Thrak turned to his sisters. Speaking in Orcish, he said “We have to decide what lie we’re going to tell them so our stories match.”
Griska seemed a touch cross. “Why don’t we just tell them the truth?” Nodding her head, Sachi agreed with Griska. “It would be easier in the long run, Thrak. I’m tired of running without a moments rest. I want a place to call home; I want friends. I want to live my life without fearing someone would learn the truth.”
“Am I the only one who realizes that the punishment for murder is hanging?! If we tell them the truth…”
“They will side with us. Our father was a bastard, a drunkard who deserved what was coming to him. Tell them, and they will understand.”
Thrak didn’t know Sachi knew those kinds of words. Before he could say anything, though, a deep Tauren voice spoke in Orcish “Tell me what?”
Thrak swore loudly at those words. Turning to the Shaman, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me you speak Orcish?”
“Simple. I knew that you were hiding something, and the best way to figure out what was to let you think that you had something over me.” The shaman sounded a little smug about this, but Thrak had too many problems at this point to worry about that.
“All right, tell me what you have figured out.” Griska gave Thrak a sharp look at this broad attack, but Thrak really did not know what else to do. He had not been anticipating a man of such intelligence to know the Orcish language.
“You murdered your father,” the shaman bluntly said, his voice emotionless. ‘This is not going to go well,’ Thrak thought. “Now why don’t you tell me why you killed him?”
Thrak was thinking as fast as he could. Lies untold passed through his mind, but there was no point in lying anymore. ‘This old Tauren has already learned half the truth. He might as well know the rest.’
And so, Thrak told him the truth. He told him of the lifetime of abuses, the cruel drunkenness, and the final breath his father took. The sun had nearly set by the time he was finished, and Griska’s eyes had swelled with tears. Sachi was not tearful, but then again, she did not speak Tauren.
“That is a rather ghastly tale you have told me,” the shaman said. He gave a curt nod, and Thrak felt two pairs of powerful hands grab his wrists. Before he could blink, the two Tauren warriors behind him clapped his hands in irons. Thrak, confused and angry, struggled against the Taurens. He cracked his fist into one Tauren’s nose and head butted the other in the stomach. Suddenly, he felt the wind itself knock him to the ground. He looked up what little he could, and saw the Shaman standing before him, having cast a wind totem.
“Do not take me for a blind fool, Thrak,” the shaman said with an air of menace in his voice. “You are indeed strong, even by the standards of your own people. But I am stronger still. There are only a few who know my name, and I will tell it to you now. I am Bloodback. I fought in the War of the Burning Legion. I have been shot, kicked, stabbed, burned, and beaten. I suffered a painful spell that stole away my sight, and it still aches to this day. And I’m still standing.”
Thrak knew who he was once he heard the name. ‘That troll captain said it before, how did I miss that?’ he wondered. He had heard the stories of Bloodback. It was not his true name, but it was the only one he was known by. He got the name when he was temporarily a captive of the Legion’s agents, the mortal scum who forsake their own kindred for the promise of power and survival. When he was rescued, his back had not a piece of flesh left unbled on it. And yet, he had not cracked under their cruel torture, and went to serve the Horde’s armies during the war. Many tales exist at this point, and doubtless most were false. Some had to be true, though, and he was now facing the man these tales were told about.
The old shaman continued, “You think you’re hard, Thrak. Well I’m harder. You think you’re mean, I’m meaner. You will do as I say, or trust me, you will live to regret it. Do we have an understanding?” Thrak nodded, and the pressure on his body eased enough for him to stand up. Griska had her arms wrapped around a very terrified looking Sachi.
“Remember Thrak, I have faced creatures far more powerful and terrible then you can ever dream of, and lived to tell the tale. Do not think you can either frighten or defeat me.” Thrak looked to the two guards that once again took his wrists. One was slightly hunched over; while the other held back a torrent of blood with his one hand. They started to drag him away when the shaman spoke again.
“One question, Thrak,” The shaman’s dead eyes stared so intently down at Thrak he felt a small shudder of fear pass through his body. “How old are you?”
“Old?”
“I mean, how many years have you lived.”
“Ten.” With that, Thrak was dragged away by his Tauren guards. The Shaman looked down at Tor varr, giving the troll a bit of a start. “A ten year old Orc managed to beat two Tauren warriors to the ground?”
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