07-17-2011, 11:18 AM
Prologue
The trail Bragdana had been following wasn't really a trail. It was just his feet mindlessly droning forward in the general direction that he knew would be his goal. His two axes, the one which he'd had for nearly all his life, and the one he'd gained in the Shadow Realm were crossed on his back. The Shadow Axe was covered in a leather pack, to hide it's natural properties. He snorted as he walked, moving to the side of any trees or larger objects that would block his trail.
Then, the farmland came into prominent view. There was charred wood and stone, which was splayed over the ground, slowly descending down to the ground from the still standing corner of what had once been a house. He was not here for the ruins, however. He pulled his aged axe from the leather strap that held it to his back, and cradled the axe to his chest.
He stepped backwards, so that a tree was between him and the farmhouse ruins, before beginning to circle the ruins. He darted his eyes between the canopy above and the farm to his left, until he finally reached the spot where the trees were smaller then all the others. He walked to the center of the glade which, luckily, no trees had grown over, and began digging. It didn't take long for him to unearth the hastily dug, shallow grave. He cleared the earth around, as to allow for easier movement, as began to rebuild the headless, skeletal corpse.
Once he had deemed the grave to be great enough, he took the axe from his laying spot a bit away and slowly pried the skull holding place open. The skull had been being disturbed more and more from it's protective place in the last few days, primarily due to the owner's recent worrying of it. The Orc knelt beside the grave, removing his wolf mask, and slowly placed the skull in it's rightful place. The Orc began crying as he refilled the ground with dirt.
He stopped moving and fell onto his back, letting the tears roll freely out of his eyes, a mixture of both joy and sorrow. It felt as if the spirit watching him for the last 30 years had finally left, and taken with it the weight that had followed him the whole time. Yet, at the same time, that spirit had been his friend. It'd been his protector and yet at the same time, his friend. At some times, it was his only friend. The spirit had listened and followed him through everything he had done.
Perhaps it was that the spirit hadn't had a chance. Perhaps the spirit hadn't been able to leave him while he still held her. Was that true? Had he really only extended the Draenei's misery by trying to end it? Or had the Draenei gone with him to make sure that he would be safe? Had she known that he hadn't wanted to kill her? And most importantly, the reason behind his journey, would the Elements take this as it was intended – A gift, or would they only get angrier with the Orc?
Slowly, the Orc pushed himself up. A few precious breaths later, and he had calmed himself enough. He positioned himself with one leg back and straight, the other crooked and forward. He slowly extended an arm and pointed it at the first simple thing he saw – A pebble. He focused the hand at the pebble, his fingers tingling with excitement. He closed his eyes, asking for the Elements to heed his call and help him, for them to show him that they were there.
A temple slammed against his temple and, completely unexpecting, he fell back. As he grasped the wound, he found it was bleeding. He roared, ripping the Shadow Axe from his back in a single tear of leather, and swinging it at the nearest tree. The axe greedily tore threw the thin leather with a bit of provocation. The next swing brought the thin tree to the ground, and the enraged Orc continued, each swing bringing a new roar, until the glade had was full of felled trees. The Orc threw the axe to the side and collapsed around the recently disturbed mound of earth.
~~ Later that day~~
The Orc sat in one of the many Lower City's taverns, the hood that he had usually worn over the wolf mask now the only thing on his head. He'd left the wolf mask, the large amount of Shamanistic relics and his totems back at the camp site, in a sort of decoration for the grave. He didn't need any of that, though. He'd relied on his muscles only for the majority of his life, and he could go back to that.
What would they think, though? He knew Nexi was in Shattrath, and she'd probably scold him and shower him with “told you so'sâ€. Juna would refuse to speak with him, Urzhad and Mouma would shun him, but still talk to him. He wouldn't be able to show his face in Azshara Crater Perhaps he could return to Ratchet, where he'd been before. Or Orgrimmar. Perhaps the military was calling once again. Weren't there portals to Orgrimmar in Shattrath? Then it'd be easy.
But then the Orc remembered the rush of power when the Elements had first listened to him. The power, the ability for him to do whatever he needed to do. He loved the power. It was better, stronger. Better then the thrill of his first honorable kill. But who wouldn't be disappointed?
Through sorting through his memory, he returned to the fragments of his childhood, before the fel. Were any of them still alive? If they were, then his only hope lay with his old teacher.