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Dreadful Thunder
The brazen noon sun of Azeroth shone brightly in the sky as orcs went about their day in their grand capital city. People of all sorts mingled with one another, all with personal goals in mind. With an absolutely clear sky, and the summer heat of Durotar truly coming in force, they darted between areas of sparse shade, somewhat sparing themselves from the sunlight. Those who were forced to linger in it grumbled, sweat falling from their brows. Most of these people were servants of the city, their professions having to do with staying outside for prolonged periods of time. Dissent was quite apparently amongst a majority of them. Though, for one large peon, he was quite content.
The man found himself repairing a barracks in the Valley of Honor after a recent fight broke out between an angry tauren and a snide warlock. He still recalled the fel-weaver being tossed through the wall, the hole made from the throw being repaired by him right now. The rest of the room was dark, light only coming in through the aforementioned hole, a bonfire in the center of it, and an array of torches. Some men and women slept atop furs, one couple was wrestling in bed, and a pair were sparring off in a corner. Still, he caught bits and pieces of conversations from groups of warriors, one in particular drawing his attention if only due to the volume of the 'chat'.
A short woman, young by the looks of it, a long black braid held by golden bands being her hairstyle, was yelling in complaint to one of the residing Kor'kron elite whom was clad in black and gold armor. He towered over the girl, though she herself was quite muscled. Her blue eyes shone brilliantly, though they were somewhat concealed by the fact that she was glaring at her superior. Compared to the man's regal outfit, she was clad in a tabard of the city, some dark pants, and a pair of dirty boots. It was a rather start contrast between the two, their standings in society on full display. Little else save a few bloodied bandages over her arms. A blade dangled from its scabbard on the girl's back, blood having stained it for Thrall knows how long.
Apparently, if she was speaking truly, the girl desired to meet with a Blademaster who often spent time within this very barracks. Having actually seen the youth a couple times over the years, he had a vague idea as to why she was getting so ticked off. It was the smirk across the man she was talking to's face. He just listened to her, slowly nodding his head at everything she said. Profanities were thrown. Insults were given. And demands were made.
"Right. Where the heck is this guy? I was told I could meet 'im here."
"He's not here."
"Whad'ya mean he's not here?"
"I mean what I said, girl. He's not here."
"Then where the fel is he!?"
Eventually he spoke with amusement in his voice "The man you seek is currently out, having left recently. You'll find him at the Crossroads if I've heard correctly. Ask for him there." The girl would quietly growl as she turned about to leave. While she said nothing to indicate such, the snarl on her lips showed as clear as daylight that she was rather angered. It was only once she was out of the barracks, making her way down the roads once again did the elite allow himself outright laughter.
The Kor'kron would look to an elderly orc sitting on the ground, who merely offered a snort as he said "My thanks, friend. I grow weary of these young ones who seek to become my pupil." As he rose to his feet did the peon catch a glimpse of him. Despite the man's age, his body was still quite fit. Large prayer beeds dangled from his neck, their normal silver color having dulled with years without any sort of polishing. Besides this, he wore nothing else save faded red trousers that ended just below his knee, and plain wooden sandals. His dull red eyes squinted in amusement, a hand coming up to stroke his greying beard. One could claim that he was weak looking compared to all the other warriors in the chamber. Yet the peon knew that this old man was without a doubt the deadliest living being in the room. The skull of a slain demon hanging on a nearby wall didn't count. "I shall see if she is worthy, or just another weakling searching for prestige."
Mundo couldn't help but smirk himself as he watched the young girl walk away. Knowingly, he would quietly mutter to himself "Got a heck of a test comin' up, kid." He'd get back to laboring on the large hole in the wall, working as hard as he always did.
"Hope yer ready for it."
Burning Blisters
Night fell as a simple orc completed his last chores at his tiny farm. Checking the fences. Getting the pigs inside. And other assorted tasks.
A couple of people thought the farmer to be odd, sleeping in the same building as his stock. But truth be told? He wouldn't be able to sleep without them. The noise they constantly made throughout through all hours of the night granted him comfort. As he laid down on his hammock, his hands moved behind his head, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the chorus of oinks as the pigs settled in as well.
Orlix, for that was the pig farmer's name, was a retired veteran of the Horde military. And the amount of times he had waged war with elves had unnerved him greatly. Dead silence always led to an ambush by the knife-ears, one of them causing the man to lose an eye to an arrow. Other such scars from arrows adorned his body, though never one from a more honorable weapon. A number of his friends even claimed that the only way he would die would be to an arrow of some sort, with how many have pierced his flesh in comparison to blades.
His ears twitched as they caught a foreign noise. A laugh. Taunting. Vile. Like a hyena's. With a grunt he would step outside the tapestry that made up his hut's door, peering outside. All that his eyes caught was a barren wasteland, some traveler on the roar, and a group of gnolls looking at him with weapons drawn. One had a bow.
He blinked his eyes in surprised recognition of the three hyena-men, and quickly hurried his way inside. The pigs were pushed to the back of the room as he grabbed his axe, calling out to the gnolls. "You want my life!? Come and claim it, monsters!" A grow emanated from his lips as he waited within his home. Surely it would be harder to use a bow indoors!
Patiently the man stood ready for battle, waiting for a flicker of movement from his tapestry that would betray the raider's entry to his home. He waited. And waited. And waited. All he could hear was the gnolls screaming outside. Rage would end up overcoming Orilix, unable to take the insults any longer. Battle would be met, and if he died, so be it. Earth shaking with every stomp he took, the veteran charged outside, yelling "Lok'tar O... gar...". His voice died down as he saw what was on display.
The gnolls were scattered, one of their dead on the ground, a foot on his corpse. This appendage belonged to a lone orcish woman, who's attention was affixed to the gnoll taking aim on her with an arrow. She began to calmly stride forward towards him, letting out a deep exhale as her brow furrowed in concentration. Orlix wanted to cry out to dodge, or to run, but that would just bring the archer's attention to him. That arrow would be the end of someone, he knew it!
He winced as he head the twang of the beast's bowstring, and the whistle of an arrow as it sped through the air, heading right for that foolish woman! She was going to die! The arrow was going t-.
She chopped it in two mid-flight.
Apparently the raiders were just as surprised as Orlix, because the sight of the maneuver simply caused them to route from the tiny farmstead. His jaw was hanging agape, eyes widened, unable to look away from the woman. By the ancestors, he thought. What just happened there?
The girl strode up to the man, offering him a brief wave on the way there. "Hey, what's up?" Her question was friendly as she confidently strode towards the farmer. A grin seemed to be plastered onto her face, for it never faded.
Orlix sighed, looking off in the direction the gnolls ran off in. "Nothing new. Those damn raiders have been a thorn in my side for years." He grunted. "Satisfying to see one of them killed." The girl slowly nodded her head in understanding.
"You tell me where they're hiding out, I'll take care of them. On the condition you give me a meal."
Orlix blinked his eyes. Was this woman insane? It wasn't a large group of raiders, five at most with their latest casualty, but more than one orc would take. He sighed, nodding his head slowly as he pointed off towards the nearby mountains. "They dwell within a shallow cave over there. You'll hear them before you see them."
She nodded once again, turning on her way, leaving a puzzled Orlix in her wake. He scratched his head.
"Get something cooking, I'll be back in a bit!"
Blood on the Sand
Helljaw cackled as he peered about his abode, the weaker beings he graced with shelter strolling about it. Ten of them in total, with three of them currently missing out on a night run. Hopefully they brought back pigs. The gnoll couldn't help but lick his black painted chops, saliva drooling from his lips at the thought of getting the first chomp of a plump and juicy swine.
He snapped back into reality after fantasizing for a moment, shaking his head. There was no pig. No, no, that would come soon enough. And if there wasn't? He could always sedate his anger with a good beating of the incompetent dolts who dared to fail. The big gnoll rested back in his crudely made throne, composed of kodo bones and hide. A fine resting place for so great a beast.
All activities in the lair stopped at the sound of cries off in the distance. He perked his ear in an attempt to recognize them. War? Anger? No... no... something he despised. Terror.
Two of the three he sent out ran into the cave, spraying the musk of fear as they sprinted. They glanced over their shoulders, apparently more afraid of what was behind them than the mighty Helljaw, whom was now looming over them. "Where!?" His voice boomed about the cave. "Where are pigs!? You fail!?"
"N-No, great and generous Helljaw! It... was all his fault! He betrayed us! He got orc woman to kill Pigsaw!" The gnoll pointed to his comrade, who immediately put up his hands in protest. Unfortunately for him though, Helljaw's victim had already been chosen for him. His fellow gnolls cheered the great leader on as he beat the 'traitor' to a bloody pulp. With a triumphant roar, the weakling was given a final good boot to the side of the head, knocking him unconscious.
"This is what happens to those who fail me!" The other gnolls cowered at his glorious visage. His eyes turned to regard the sole survivor of the raiding party, causing the lesser gnoll to empty his glands in terror. "All of you! Go back and find orc woman! Search everywhere! Bring head!"
With a cheer, the gnolls left the cave, Helljaw smiling as he relaxed in his throne. He would sit there for hours and hours. Eventually, he perked a brow. Where were his lackeys? His curiosity swiftly turned to frustration as he went to the entrance of his abode. No matter where he looked, there was nothing but a barren wasteland to be seen. As a strong gust of wind blew by him, he howled in fury.
He didn't notice the woman stepping forth from the shadows behind him.
Or the blade separating his head from his shoulders.
--------------------------------
"That was some pretty damn good meat! What's your name again?" The girl chomped on her meal, speaking and chewing at the same time. Not the most pleasant sight. But Orlix could care less. She just brought him the heads of six gnolls. And for nothing but a meal.
"Orlix Swiftblade."
"Dagrim."
The man perked a brow. "No surname?" This provoked a chuckle from Dagrim, who shook her head.
"I got too many at this point. Been switchin' so much it's lost most of its meaning t' me. I'll go with Stormblade though."
"... Well, Dagrim Stormblade. You have my thanks. Where do you travel now?"
"Crossroads. Got a person to meet."
"... I see. Well, rest here the night. I'll prepare you a bag of jerky."
She smiled as she took another chomp out of her meal. "Heh. Thanks!"