Bones of the Past [Pyremaster]

[FlyingSquirrel]

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's”. 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.

[FlyingSquirrel]

I

The Elements had abandoned Bragdana, and he had no clue why. Fel, he'd done what he thought was best. He'd gone back to Terokkar and basically desecrated his old axe, the axe he'd had for over half his life, in an attempt to appease them. They had ignored his pleas for council, and, thus, he was alone again. He didn't need them, though. He was perfectly able to last by himself. He had before. He had for the last 42 years, for crying out loud. Why would he need them anyways?

So, Bragdana had given up on his quest to be a Shaman and trudged to Shattrath. Perhaps Nexariel would be able to help him, although he doubted it. He doubted it as much as he doubted the sun not rising tomorrow. Fel, all truth be told, he was scared of his next meeting with her. He had an axe made of shadow and she already, presumably, didn't like him.

But if he couldn't go to her, who could he go to? Juna, Urzhad and Mouma were probably in Azshara Crater. Nexi was in Shattrath. The places he had left were the Horde Capitals and Dalaran. Each made him want to puke. He no longer wanted to be a part of the Horde, it wasn't him. Then, he'd thought of going home.

So, he had traveled through Shattrath, specifically staying away from the part where he had last seen Nexi and her friends. His stay was peaceful, albeit odd for the Orc with the Shadow Axe. After gathering the supplies for his journey, he set out through the Nagrand. His journey was largely uninterrupted, and, slowly, he saw the settlings of the Mag'har.

He approached them apprehensively, yet, despite his odd items, they let him in. They had seen worse, after all. So, he entered the village and set to questions. The first few had nothing, yet, as he was ready to give up, a Shaman actually helped him.

“Ay,” his hand pointed upwards, “Up there. Gron'lok.” Bragdana followed his hands, and raised an eyebrow at the floating chunk of earth, “Gron'lok? Really?” His voice betrayed a hint of disbelief, and the Shaman nodded, “Ay. Prefers his solitude, I guess.” The Brown Shaman shook his head, “Old ones are odd like that.”

He wasn't lying. Gron'lok was over 76 by now, already past middle-aged by the time Bragdana had left. This was even more disbelievable because Gron'lok had been training Bragdana as a Shaman before he left. So, one would have to think Bragdana was amazingly lucky, with the same teacher staying alive through all of this. They were completely right.

Through paying for a tamed Wyvern for the short ride, Bragdana got up to the floating island. The scenery was amazing. Miles of greenery stretched to all sides, except the north, where majestic waterfalls cascaded down. The Island itself was not to shabby, either. In the center was a simple hut, not particularly amazing. Inside was an elaborate altar, an aged Mag'har behind the altar.

Carefully, Bragdana observed the rest of the floating platform. A lake, a spire of earth and the whipping wind gave him presence of all the Elements except... Fire. Narrowing his eyes, he called out, “Hellooo...”. The brown figure didn't move, and Bragdana approached.

Tentatively, he set a foot in the house. Automatically, a skeleton, the flames delicately licking it's black bones, stepped behind him, effectively blocking his exit. “What Greenskin enters my house unprivileged?” The Brown Orc kept his serene pose, otherwise completely still.

“Really, Gron'lok, you're this paranoid of your own people?” The Greenskin narrowed his eyes, tentatively reaching for the axe usually strapped to his back, only to find it missing and in the hands of one the skeleton.

“Greenskins are not my people. You betrayed the Elements with your drinking of Demon Blood and,” He stood, staring the Orc down, “by doing that, you betrayed me.” Bragdana narrowed his eyes at the Brownskin's eyes, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, your eyes were open? Nice.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Anyways. Not all were in control of their own actions. When people tend to do things, other people tend to follow their example, if they're influental. Case in point, Ner'zhul. He drank Fel Blood, and we followed him. As Humans say, it's like jumping on the Bandwagon. Anyways, Gron'lok, if you haven't noticed, we have our own Shaman now.”

The corner of Gron'lok's mouth twitched, and he narrowed his eyes, “And yet, it took you how long? Thirty years? Fourty?” A dark, low growl left his throat, “And what green skin would think they have the honors of calling me by my name?”

Bragdana dropped his hand from the bridge of his nose, shrugging, “Oh, no one particularly special. Just someone that, if you still have a sliver of your memory left, you should remember.” He clasped his hands together, “Tell me, Gron'lok, does the name 'Bragdana' remind you of anything?”

The Brown one narrowed his eyes, “A student of mine would never drink fel, let alone slaughter innocents.” Regardless, his face softened, and he eyed his former student up and down.

“I did neither.” He smirked, lying through the masked teeth, “So, how goes it?”

[FlyingSquirrel]

Spoiler:

Dog fights, Warcraft Style

II

“So, Bragdana, I've guessed you've already figured this out. If you haven't, I don't want to train you, but you have to make amends with the Elements and the Spirits before we can begin any sort of training. Therefore, that is what we will do today.” He forced a pack of clothes into Bragdana's hands, “Go re-dress.”

Bragdana blinked, before taking the clothes, rounding a corner, and obeying. He returned with a wolf mask, a thick kilt that made his legs uncomfortably hot, some tribal beads covering his chest, and three rocks on each of his wrists, looped together with a string. He had been in something like this before, but that was when he was 12, not 44. Plus, he could've sworn that it was hotter this day then it was that day.

As he went back to Grol'nok, the Elder forced a cup of sapta into the Greenskin's hands and picked up his own cup, “Follow me.” In one swoop, the Brownskin drank the whole of the sapta, and collapsed. Bragdana, bewildered, did the same. When his eyes reopened, he was watching Grol'nok speak to 4, large Elementals. Fire was over two times as tall as all the others, but seemed to hold no quarrel towards them. However, the look they gave Bragdana when he looked at them told him that they had a quarrel with him.

Grol'nok was speaking before them, dwarfed by the size of the Elementals. He couldn't understand what the brown skinned man was saying, as he was saying it too quickly. As Grol'nok finished talking to the Elementals, they sidled past him, standing before Bragdana. Each shrunk themselves to Bragdana's size, and stared him eye to eye.

First was water. Water nodded at him, then moved on. The same thing happened with wind. Earth nodded, and pressed a small rock into his hand. Fire came up to him and covered his eyes with one of the burning palms of his hand. The pain seared for a second, but Bragdana was, by this time, to hypnotized to move. The fiery hand moved away, and Bragdana was back in the real world.

The rock that he had been given was clutched in his hand which was, oddly enough, sweating. He picked himself up and turned the rock over in his hands, looking it over. The outline faintly resembled that of Nagrand, and there were 4 different spots, each marked with a large circle. The first was simple, to the north, on the edge of the lake. So, he got on the Wyvern Grol'nok had on his island, and flew to the spot.

A Dwarf was there, kneeling by the lake, washing his blunderbluss out on the lake. Bragdana got off the wyvern and looked at the Dwarf, “Water would like if you stopped doing that.” The Dwarf was taken aback by the Orc, who was still dressed in the heavily Shamanistic robes, then broke into laughter. A group of Water Elementals rose from the water, just slightly, and watched Bragdana. “Dwarf, do not mess with things you can not comprehend.” The Dwarf followed Bragdana's eyes to the Elementals and sighed, “Fine. Och, ye know what? I'll not even pee any more! So ye wata doesn't get pissed!” Bragdana smiled, “Water would get pissed, I can assure you.”

Next was on the border of Terokkar and Nagrand, in the mountains above Shattrath. He flew there, and landed to see a two-headed Ogre preparing runes. Bragdana likened the runes to those that a Mage had on the bracers, which were used for controlling Elementals. The Ogre left, and Bragdana ran forward, stamping the runes out. He ran back to the Wyvern and looked at the stone. The two previous circles had disappeared.

He flew to the next location, just east of the Ring of Trials. Nothing was on the ground and, so when he was able to figure it out, he went to the spire of rock floating above. There he saw it. A Gnome was flying his plane a bit away from Bragdana. Bragdana took a bag of his, filled it with medium sized pebbles, and mounted his Wyvern, kicking it into action against the plane. “Earth grant me strength, Wind grant me accuracy.” With that, the Wyvern took off.

Bragdana got in a stationary position, behind the plane. He put his back straight, linked his feet beneath the Wyvern's stomach, and started hurling rocks at the Gnome. The Gnome, startled, banked left, and the Wyvern followed. At this point, the Pilot began to freak out. You see, it's not every day a Shaman on a Wyvern begins chucking rocks at your plane. Also, at this point, Bragdana got a lucky shot. You see, planes are made flimsily enough and this one was no exception to that rule. So, a lucky shot, a screw comes undone, and Bragdana has shots into the engine. So, Bragdana took those shots and, somehow, the plane went up in flames.

He flew to the ground and sighed, looking for where to go next. The fourth circle was in an area Bragdana was able to identify as a valley. He flew to the valley and landed. He saw a spiral of smoke going into the air, and went to the smoke. There was a Human, presumably a Mage, conjuring water over a wild fire. Bragdana strode forward and placed a Human on the female, pulling her back, “Stop it. Nagrand is a wild place, not one for your Arcane.” The Human, startled, looked at Bragdana. He needed just to nod, before he turned around and returned to Grol'nok.

[FlyingSquirrel]

III

Bragdana groaned and picked himself up. He was still dressed in the Shamanistic regalia, and his legs were hot. On top of this, he had fallen to sleep with the magical stone still clutched in his hands. He groaned, gripping his head and looking at the stone. There were no circles any more. However, there was an imprint.

He blinked. The imprint was in the shape of Nagrand, and the stone was in the shape of an oval. He looked up, and yelped, scrambling back. The Wyvern had left long ago, and there was him, in the middle of the night. Before him, was an illuminated group of spirits. Each was just an illumination of what they were in life, a transparency of them, all details lost to their own world.

He picked himself up and frightened himself against the rock wall behind him. The smoldering fire shone a sickly cerulean light, and the spirits disappeared. A piece of parchment shot out of the smoldering fire, and slowly floated to the ground. Bragdana, who'd never been more terrified in his life, snatched the piece of paper from the air. He merely was able to glimpse at it, before it burned in the same light blue fire that the fire burned in. The fire flashed back to the scarlet color he was used to, and Bragdana collapsed to the ground.

He closed his eyes and leaned back, running over the scene in his mind. The thought of it still brought goose bumps to Bragdana's arms, and he looked at the stone once more. It had returned to looking like Nagrand, and a small hole had been burned into it. The hole was in Garadar. Bragdana narrowed his eyes, then sighed. He walked outside, and saw the Windrider, sitting. The carcass of a rat was at it's feet. Bragdana took a deep breath and mounted the Windrider, kicking it to Grol'nok's hovel.

No one was there. The fire was no longer there, everything had theoretically been wiped off the map. He blinked and went into the hovel. The altar had been replaced with a coffin and, in it, was a Mag'har child. His eyes were covered with a white blindfold, and blood leaked from where is eyes were supposed to be. Bragdana wrinkled his nose in disgust, and turned around.

Again, there was the crowd of detail-lost spirits. This time, they reached a hand out. Slowly, they tipped over. As they hit the ground, the universally turned into a mist, and dispersed. The mist slowly fell into the ground, and Bragdana jumped towards the mist. It completely disappeared, and Bragdana sighed, taking a few steps forward, and sitting down. He sighed, and closed his eyes.

Meditation was hard to come by when one was so dearly scared. So, after a few minutes of attempts, he gave up and opened his eyes. Everything around him was the bright, shining blue. He yelped, very loudly and very high-pitchedly, so high pitched that it was nearly a scream. The blue dropped from below him, and he fell to the ground.

Quickly, he picked himself up. Everywhere, it was black. As black as night. So dark, he could only see what the light above him provided. He checked his surroundings quickly. Slowly, small lights began to fall from the top light and surrounded him, slowly molding their shapes into those of Humans, Dwarves or Gnomes. They each took a monolithic blade in their hand, approaching the Orc slowly.

They, simultaneous, took a swing at Bragdana. With no where to go, the Orc just crouched and shielded himself with his arms. The blades dispersed before they touched him and bathed him in the ethereal mist that they provided. Once again, Bragdana was enclosed in an orb of the ghostish light. He placed his hands before him and tried to push, but just fell forward, rolling around in an eternal somersault in the orb.

The orb dropped him once more, and this time he wasn't able to catch himself. He landed like a board, and groaned. He didn't want to pick himself up. He knew something bad was waiting. However, he did anyways. He had to. So, he did. He groaned, then looked up. There was a Human. The female kneeled down and held out a hand to help up Bragdana.

Bragdana took it, slowly, and stood before the Human, easily being larger then her. She looked up at Bragdana, “The spirits have but one task for you.” Bragdana looked taken aback, and the Human slowly turned into a Draenei woman, standing above Bragdana.

“Just be yourself.”

Bragdana was once again surrounded by blue mist. He jerked, waking up and looking around. The Wyvern was looking at him, quite questioningly. Bragdana shook his head, “Sorry, nightmare.”

[FlyingSquirrel]

IV

Bragdana slid off the Wyvern and began sorting through the meat that he'd taken down with him to the city below. Luckily, everything was okay. He pat the Wyvern twice on the rump, the beast taking off with a minor growl at the Orc. He grinned, carrying the bag to the fire. The fire, as always, was burning right outside the entrance of the hovel. He set up his usual cooking utensils which, literally, was a couple of sticks, before tying part of the Clefthoof to the roasting stick – He didn't know the name for it. Spit? No, not spit. He didn't care enough to ask.

He double-checked the tie and set the roasting stick above the fire on the two fork sticks and went inside to the hovel. The old man wasn't inside. He furrowed his eyebrows, before returning the fire. He mentally debated whether or not to watch the grass grow, or to watch the blood seep from the slab of meat. He held out his hand, under the meat, to catch some blood. However, with a fire threatening to mutilate the back of his hand, he had to take his hand back.

The old man had warned him not to try to mess with the Elements quite now. However, patience had never been one of Bragdana's best aspects. He picked himself up, groaning, and assumed his Element-commanding position. A leg was splayed slightly backwards, and bent, his toes doing the heavy lifting. The partner leg was forward, flat footed and bent at a 90 degree angle. He extended his arm, fingers tingling once more with anticipation of the power that he hoped would come. His eyes closed.

A burning sensation greeted his hand, and he smiled, quivering with excitement. The burning sensation crept up his arm, and spread over his chest like a torrent of fire. The torrent slid up his neck and, slowly surrounded each part of his body, except his eyes. Slowly, his eyes were peeled open. He jerked his hand back and his mouth fell open.

Before him was a flaming Draenei. She was transparent through all the flames, and taller then the Orc. He didn't even need to think to know who she was. He reached out a hand to touch her, to confirm her existence, and she suddenly threw her arms around the Orc. The Orc returned the embrace, and the two just hung there. Oddly enough, the Draenei felt soothing to the skin, not burning as one would think.

He slowly pulled himself from the Draenei, holding her at arms length. He felt the tears welling up once again, and pulled his arms away, turning from the female. He wiped away the water from his eyes, then turned back to her, mumbling quickly, “I'm sorry.” The Draenei hugged him again, cooing peacefully, “It is okay, Bragdana. You have made up for your sins.”

The Orc pulled away, eyes wide, “How?” “Bragdana, you have not turned to a life of crime. You have fought against what harm people would have wanted to bring to Azeroth. And I have no doubt that you will continue to, even if you're nearing your end. And I want to be there to help you. After you're done with this, Bragdana, I want you to return to my grave and get my skull back. Put it in your old axe – it will be fine until you return.”

Bragdana bowed his head, eyebrows contorted with thought, “But, what good did I do? I killed people. The only thing I can remember is Hyjal that actually helped Azeroth.” The Draenei smiled benevolently at him. At least, Bragdana thought she did. She gently raised her arm and placed one of her transparent hands on his forehead.

The Orc was suddenly looking, in third person, at himself. He was standing over an unconscious Dwarf, who was bleeding from an eye profusely. The younger Bragdana bit his lower lip, before tearing off some of the Dwarf's leg leather and using it to sloppily bandage the wound. Then, he left. A flash of white. Then, he saw a Dwarf dressed in the gear of a Paladin, with an eyepatch, pointing his sword forward as a group of Horde and Alliance charged at a group of Ymirjar.

Another flash of white, and he saw his axe again blocking the down-coming sword of a Fel-guard, which was aimed for a downed Kaldorei. He quickly punched the Felguard in the side of the head and decapitated it. He then picked up the Night Elf, and took her back to camp. She was healed there, and went back to her own camp. Then, the Kaldorei was seen leading the charge on a group of Demons, with Infernal meteors roaring from above.

He felt the pride swell in his chest further and further as each further person passed, in no particular chronological order. What kind of made him sad that the people he'd saved was undoubtedly tipped in favor of the Alliance. Particularly, there were much too many Dwarves on the list. How many had he killed in the 4 to 5 years he was there, one?

But then it came to the last part, the last vision. It was the Draenei, the one who was giving him these memories. It was a flash-through of the memories before his War Party had found her. The constant hunger, close enough to be called starving, and the constant thirst. He pitied her with all his heart. However, then he'd killed her, and she was free.

However, when Bragdana was forced to take her skull, she'd been bound to him once again. She'd been mad at first, of course. Bound to a rampaging barbarian for the rest of his long life. However, then she got to see the Orc more, and that he wasn't just a rampaging barbarian. He was one who was forced, and had been forced, to enjoy something.

A white flash followed, and he stumbled back into the small rock spire. The Clefthoof meat was on fire, and he was alone.

[FlyingSquirrel]

V

The Orc had been meditating, beneath the spire of rock. He hadn't been able to contact the spirit of the Draenei, although he had a sneaking suspicion of her name. Vlysanta. He liked that name. Every body and thought in his mind screamed to return to the east, to get the skull. It felt odd without the axe. That axe had been with him for longer then he could remember. Or, longer then he thought he could remember.

He picked himself up, groaning with the minor physical exertion. The old man had been missing for over a week now, but Bragdana was confident he'd be back soon. He sighed, ripped a bit of meat off the cooked Clefthoof and stuffing it into his mouth, before returning outside. The fire blazed up, causing the Orc to shield his eyes, even in bright sunlight. A note fluttered out and landed in his hand. It read one thing; Throne of the Elements. The Orc looked over the edge of the floating island, spying the large lake in the distance, then pulled back. “Oh, Lo'gosh, f**k me.” He ran at the edge and took a leap of faith.

The air swirled around him, before forming a cloud beneath the Orc. The Orc was nearly hyperventilating as the cloud completely look his weight, and slowly flew him down to the far edge of the lake. He collapsed on the ground once he could, and just lay there as the Broken and Mag'har approached him. “Please, give me a not-as-exciting way to travel next time. Clouds are -horrible- transportation. You never know if you'll fall through or not.”

He picked himself up and looked at the Broken, eying the malformed Draenei up and down. The Broken nodded at him, and the green Orc nodded back, looking to the brown Orc, “Right, what am I doing today?” The brown Orc looked at him, before closing his eyes, “Right. The Elements decided to like you enough to actually -start- training you. Don't mess up this time.” The Mag'har and Broken turned around, “This is Vralach.” They walked, and Bragdana had no choice but to follow them.

It was a long hike to the domain of the Elements, one with which only Bragdana seemed to have a problem. At the top, Gron'lok turned to him. “Right. Now, we just need to make sure they like you.” He thrust some Sapta into the Orcs hands, “We will wait at the end of Earth, which is the last Element. You will drink this Sapta and ask each of the Elements for forgiveness. Bring a token, showing how they forgive you. If we see you at the end, you live and we begin your training. If we don't, you're dead, and we would have messed up. Now, drink.” The green Orc looked around for a bit, cautious of his surroundings, before drinking the Sapta in one go.

A flash of white followed, and he looked to where the Mag'har and Broken had been a second before. Eveywhere there were Elemental beings. The Elementals of Air floated above head lazily. Before him was a shallow lake with an island in the center, Water Elementals teeming around. Behind, he could see Earth on the ridges, and fire in it's burnt glade of trees. He groaned, then made his way to the Island in the center of the water. There were as a circle, with 7 rock-lines, evenly spaced, pointing towards the center. In the center was a long rock. Bragdana stood before the rock.

“Dear the Elementals of Water, those representing kindness and rejuvenation. You teach us to help those in need, and you help us bring back those who's first chance was too short. For that, we owe you infinite thanks and worship, which I have given. However, now I ask that you give me some of your kindness, and wash away the sins that I have committed onto you, and the other Elements.” The Elements had paused, and slowly gathered around him as he had done his speech. As he finished, they nodded at once. He felt water wash over him, and a small tear appeared in his hand. He held the tear in his hand as he nodded his thanks, and the Elements went back to their business. He moved on.

Next was Earth. He approached the bottom of the small ridge and once again began his speech. “Dear the Elementals of Earth, those representing braveness and honor. You teach us how to have honor in ourselves and those around us, and to hold our ground, even against overwhelming odds. For that, we owe you infinite thanks and worship, which I have given. However, now I ask that you help me and give me some of your honor and braveness, so that I may continue to fight for what we all equally want, and for you also to give me your pardons for my past sins.” The Earth had had the same reaction as the water, gathering around him as he spoke. As he finished, they all nodded. A large Elemental handed him a Stone circle, with a hole in the middle. He attached this to his bracer, and nodded his thanks, moving on.

It was a very short hike to the top of the small ridge, where his next goal was, Air. He opened his hands, having tucked the tear into a pocket. He opened his hands, “Dear the Elementals of Air, those representing freedom and cunning. You teach us how to hold ourselves above all others, and how to think before we rush into things. For that, we owe you infinite thanks and worship, which I have given. However, now I ask that you eternally bless me with the ability to make my own decisions, so that I will never be controlled to harm you. I also wish to ask you for your pardon for my past sins, so those will not haunt me in the future.” These Elementals had had the exact same response as the two, and, as he finished, nodded their agreement. The wind whipped past him, and a feather appeared in his hand.

He looked down the path he could come up and closed his eyes for a second, thinking. Fire, now. He didn't have a reason to be scared but, for some odd reason, he felt that this, if anything, would be the hardest to attain. However, he had no choice. He had to get this done before the Sapta was finished, or his journey was over. He slid down the mountain, and took his spot in the center of the ever-burning glade of trees.

“Dear the Elementals of Fire, those representing relentlessness and rage. You teach us how to never give up, and how to harness our rage into the fiery point that cuts into our enemies. For that, we all owe you infinite thanks and worship, which I have given. However, now I ask that you give me your trust, so that together, we can fight. I also ask that you forgive me for the sins that I have done to you especially, so that we may fight together unhindered.” The green Orc closed his eyes and gulped, waiting for something to happen. He felt something hot sink into his right hand, and yet pulled together the willpower to keep his eyes closed. Then, another flash of white.

–

He woke up in Grol'nok's hovel, his right hand bandaged. The Skeletal minion was outside, but the Mag'har himself was nowhere to be seen. The Orc picked himself up, and walked outside. A full plate of food, with an ale, was waiting outside. Without a second thought, he sat down to ate.

[FlyingSquirrel]

VI

Bragdana's hand throbbed under the bandages Grol'nok had given him. Before it'd been bandaged, Bragdana had seen a nasty burnt spot in the palm of his hand. Then, it had been bandaged, and he couldn't see it anymore. In all honesty, the burn mark was gruesome, he wouldn't want to look at it if he could. So, he let the bandages do their thing.

Grol'nok sat down across from Bragdana, “Right. Well, if you're going to be a Pyremaster, you need to know the formalities of such a thing. You can't just walk up, set fire to a peace of wood and walk away. Orcs expect the more important burial to be the more.. flashy one. Of course, people like peons don't get burials. You, however, will most likely be called for chieftain burials, or things like such. So, of course, you need to know what to do for proper buriels.”

The elder Orc picked himself up and gestured to the hovel, which was just out of Bragdana's sight, “Come, I've got my helper ready to be a test dummy for you today.” The Mag'har hobbled off in the direction of his small house, and Bragdana followed him. The house, as always, was illuminated by something Bragdana could never see, but only dimly. The skeleton that usually served Gron'lok was on the altar, lieing down. The fire that usually tingled on her bones had diminished.

“Right, so, Bragdana. Imagine that there's a whole clan in front of you? What would you say?” This caught the younger Orc off guard, “Wait, what?” “What would you say to them? It's a simple question.” Bragdana looked at the imaginary clan, “Well, first I need the man's name.” “The Chieftain's name is Glash'targ.” Bragdana nodded at his mentor's answer.


“Glash'targ was an honorable chieftain, one that there will never be another of. His honor will be lamented of for generations to come. Lok'tar og-- Okay, you know what? I feel like a total fucking retard doing this.” The Mag'har looked at Bragdana and sighed, “You're as thick headed as you were when you were 7. I don't care how stupid you think it is, you have to do it.” The greenskin snorted, and turned back to face the altar. “Glash'targ was honorable, someone who will never be able to be replicated. He was great as both a leader, a friend and a warrior. I would have been honored to fight alongside him in life, and it is my honor to send him off.”

The Mag'har raised an eyebrow. “Okay, that was good. However, I think you laid it on too thick. Honestly, it matters with the crowd. Sure, a clan might like you calling their chieftain honorable but, honestly, you laid it on much too thick with that. Call him honorable maybe once or twice, but not 5 times. Also, if you've heard any good stories of him, then put those in your speech. Any times you may have been with him, such as Hygal, even if you weren't there, put them in. People like a Pyremaster that they knew, or they think they knew. Pull off that trick, and you will have the group respecting you as much as they respected their chieftain, or a fellow member.”

“Of course, you also have to know the person's history. If you say they invaded Shattrath, or something, and they didn't, then you'll get ran out and disgraced. Likewise, it's also wise to have the Chieftain's mate talk, or other relevant guest speakers. This, again, is another way to make the Clan happy. Lastly, do not bring your skeletal minion to the burial. It just scares people. Now, try again.”

Bragdana sighed, “Glash'targ was an honorable Orc, a chieftain that fought in more then his fair share of victories, and truly knew the meaning of the phrase 'Victory or Death'. It would have been a gift to see him in combat, as many of you did. It is my assurance to all of you, on my personal honor, that this Orc will be well-off as a Spirit. You shall always have him on your side. Lok'tar ogar.”

The Mag'har nodded approvingly, “Right. I'm sure you'd do better if the Orc was actually real. However, now we have to work on your actual wear for such an occasion. Yes, I know, I hated it too. But, if you look like death, at least somewhat, then the people will, one, be scared of you and, more importantly, you will look as if you know what you're talking about.”

The Orc went around the altar, before pulling out some white powder and a pair of clothes strangely akin to his own. He tossed the second set of clothes at the younger Orc, “Go change.” When Bragdana had returned, the Mag'har ordered the greenskin to sit down on the altar. The minion was re-animated, and standing behind him. Slowly, the Orc drew a symbol of a skull on the Greenskin's face, before pulling back. “Right, done. Get use to the feel.” He thrust the white power into the younger Orc's hands, “Now, go practice outside. With your burnt hand.” He picked up a nearby piece of cloth, thrusting it into Bragdana with the powder, “This is for your pain. Deal with it.”

With that, the young Orc was cast outside and practiced on the dirt. It was an overall simply design, with white chalk covering the forehead and filtering between the cheeks as it went down, to stop at his mouth. It didn't take long for him to get used to drawing it. The clothing wasn't bad either. Just a kilt, with a piece of cloth that covered his shoulders and abdomen. He quite liked the feel of it, but didn't like the revealing blubber that it showed.

He went into the hovel and gave the powder back to Grol'nok, before taking his customary spot under the rock spire to begin to meditate. Oddly enough, he'd never even needed the towel – He hadn't even though of using it. Perhaps that meant that either practicing with a finger isn't hard on the palm, or he was just more of a man then he thought he was.

[FlyingSquirrel]

VII

“So, Bragdana, now you know the Orcish part of being a Pyremaster, yes?” Upon receiving the nod from Bragdana, the mentor continued, “Well, as you probably guessed, those aren't the only things you have to appease in your ceremony. The Spirits, from those of the Elementals, to those who you are taking care of, need to be appeased as well. So, that's what will be happening today, training-wise.”

Bragdana picked himself up, and looked at Grol'nok, “Not so hasty. A large majority of the appeasal doesn't begin at the altar – It begins beforehand. You, apart from the dressing yourself up, have to make sure that they are okay with everything beforehand. Along with this, you need to gain their blessing for multiple different things, including setting the pyre of fire.”

Grol'nok reached out for Bragdana's hand and pulled it outwards, moving quickly and taking off one of the stone circles tied to his bracer. He placed the stone in Bragdana's upturned hand, “Now, this is a little trick that we know, but not the majority of civilians do. You see, one of the things that most Pyremasters do is have this rock imbued with the essence of fire before the ceremony. Then, they, or you in this case, place the stone on the pyre and it ignites.”

“By creating this visual effect, many people come to believe that your stones are... Holy, let's say. Blessed by the Elements beforehand, and always have been. Others believe that it's your presence that does it. Only we, however, know how it truly works. Well, us, and whoever you choose for a Mate, if you choose to tell her.... Or him. Really, it's all your choice.”

Bragdana raised an eyebrow at the old man's rant as he took the stone back, retying it to his bracer. “Okay. What else do I have to do?”

“Well, of course, you have to pay homage to the Elements before you go do anything. You also have to do the same for Spirits. Here, follow me. This's something that I've always personally done beforehand.” Grol'nok turned around and began to walk into his hovel, Bragdana having no choice but to follow.

The brown Orc knelt down and removed four beads from a box, before laying them out on the empty altar. They were simply circular, large enough to fill the palm of Bragdana's hand. A symbol was drawn on each bead. A cliff for earth, a wave for water, a fire for fire and a current for air. Grol'nok allowed Bragdana to visually look over each, before continuing.

“Here's what I do. I fill each of these small capsules with a small amount of powder. Then, whatever I eat beforehand, I crush these small capsules on the meat, each of them. Except for water, which I put in my drink. Then, simply enough, I eat the food and drink the water. This tightens my bonds with the Elements.” Bragdana nodded, “But what do you do for the spirits?”

“That depends, really. Sometimes, I have their mate come up, maybe put the stone in the fire or help you push the pyre off, if you're on a lake. If this doesn't work, like their mate's dead or they don't have one, then you can either wear something that they wore in life, as sort of an emblem of their life. I remember, one time, wearing the man's braid as a belt. All in all, what you wear is only limited by what you can come up with to wear.”

“Now, follow me, I'll show you how I make the the beads.” The brown man walked out of the hovel, and to the edge of the small lake. They both sat, and Grol'nok took a large amount of clay in his hands. About an hour later, he had half of a bowl made. “Now, Bragdana, you finish this ball.” Bragdana nodded and began to copy, the elder walking off with his half. It took him about an hour to get the motion down, but when he did, he finished quickly. Grol'nok returned halfway through with the hardened result. Bragdana finished, and Grol'nok motioned for the Green man to follow him. He walked to the bonfire in the center of the island and took Bragdana's half, tossing it in the fire. “Now, come back in about... 30 minutes.”

So, the two returned to the lake and continued to make bowls of clay. Grol'nok finished his first, and took the bowl to the fire, returning with the earlier finished product. This continued until they reached the glorified number of eight. At this point, the sun was slowly sinking over the broken horizon. They retreated to the bonfire to keep light.

Grol'nok had set up something similar to a finger paint station, with four colors. Dark brown, scarlet red, dark blue and grey. Four of the bowls already had the powder inside, resting peacefully in the lowest point of the bowl. So, he took the other halves and began painting the symbols on the top. He finished painting the tops, and they two edges were connected quickly enough, to have a fully hollowed out ball.

However, a question had been nagging at the back of Bragdana's mind the whole time. So, as they winded down their work, he decided now or never. “Grol'nok, is this just practice, or am I going to need to use these soon?” Grol'nok sighed and looked slowly at Bragdana, “It's late. Go to bed, so I can tell you when you're... fully awake. Good night, Bragdana.” The brown skin returned into the hovel, and Bragdana was left with a dwindling fire and his thoughts.

[FlyingSquirrel]

VIII

The sunlight sent shivers down Bragdana's bare back. He had slept outside, and kinda regretted the decision. The ground was hard enough on his aged bones, but the fact that the temperature was so constantly fluctuating had given him all but a few hours of sleep. It would have been better if he had a pillow, but no. Grol'nok had given him a rock.

A rock which he had later tossed off the edge of the island.

It took the aging Orc a while to remember that Grol'nok was supposed to tell him something. So, the green Orc picked himself and went into the hovel. Grol'nok, as usual, was nowhere to be seen. So, Bragdana sighed and turned around, walking back outside. He turned a corner and yelped. Grol'nok was standing right in front of him, back straight and hands folded behind his back.

“Bragdana, I figure I might as well tell you now. Krall, do you remember him?” Following the slow nod from the younger, “Well, ya see. He died. He was fighting the Murkbloods and one of their blades got him.” Grol'nok contorted his jaw and looked at the rising sun, squinting his eyes, “I was going to perform the ceremony, but I think that you'd be the better person for this.”

Bragdanas memories of Krall were vague at best, but undoubtedly still there. He knew one thing for certain; the kid had been a b***h. He was three years older then, and had been an adult by the time Bragdana had to leave his clan. However, the two oft had fun wrestling in the mud, or doing other boyish things together. Naturally, Bragdana was sad at this. However, he was just barely so. So, hopefully this wouldn't be so bad.

Grol'nok looked at Bragdana, “Now, there are a few things of note that I think you should know beforehand. He has a mate. She is an Archer, and goes by the name Rahn. They've been mates for 15 years, and she's just recently become impregnated. As I told you, he was killed by a Broken in the west.” Grol'nok kept listing things, which Bragdana made a mental note of.

“You have a week before the pyre. What you do with this week is your choice.”

So, Bragdana loitered. Some time, he spent meditating. Some time, he spent down in Garadar. However, most of the time, he sat on the edge of the lake bordering Garadar and just loitered. He didn't spend enough time with one in particular for such a one to remember his name, but he spent enough time in general to get a feel of the community.

However, one person who he did spend a large amount of time with was Rahn, Krall's widowed mate. She was actually surprisingly calm over the whole ordeal, and understood why Grol'nok had given his honor to Bragdana for this event once Bragdana described the circumstances to her. She, overall, was pleasant, and Bragdana could see why she would be chosen as a mate.

The week was over in the blink of an eye, largely. Next thing he knew, he was dressing for the role, his clothes fit on and the skull drawn on his face. He had the four orbs strapped to his temporary wyvern, and Krall's Nether Ray stinger-necklace looped around his own neck.

It was a long flight to the pyre site on the edge of Sunspring Lake. The location was dangerous, and guards had to be posted, but Rahn would've had it no other way. Bragdana was fine, personally. However, his axe still came with him, just in case. There was a tent set up for him. He entered, and found Grol'nok already inside. A quick review of Krall and what Bragdana was to expect, and Bragdana began the pre-Ceremony ceremonies.

The stone was clipped to Bragdana's bracer, the last food swallowed. Bragdana was ready. His heart began beating quickly, filling the Orc with a feeling of exhilaration., the shallow breath and the pumping adrenaline. He went forth from the tent, and smiled at the group of Orcs.

There was a wooden stage with a wooden altar, decorated with multiple shamanistic relics. Before him was a crowd of Orcs. Bragdana took a final breath, and made his way up to the stage. Rahn and Grol'nok were up front, with the rest of the crowd, a total of about 20, creating a V shape. It took a bit for Bragdana to realize that, with him, they shaped a V.

He straightened his back and stood tall, adding every thing he had to enunciate and correctly portray his thoughts. For the first time in a long time, he spoke in the language of his childhood. “Some of you may not know this, but I was a childhood friend of Krall. He was only three years older then I, but those three years were enough to usually beat me.” He smiled briefly.

“I would like to thank you all for allowing me to take this opportunity. It's not often that you see a Pyremaster of my color, and even less often that one such Pyremaster mourns with you over the loss of someone he was once able to call a friend. And let me tell you, I was honored to be able to call him a friend, if only for those short 13 years that we knew eachother.”

“Nor could I see a better death for him, other then the one he was granted. Perhaps, death by old age, so that we could have met once more, and again lit the fire under our friendship. However, fate has it's own plans set out for each of us, and it did not want us to meet again.” Bragdana took a second to take a breath, and calm himself. The speech, all in all, had taken about five minutes so far.

“All in all, he was a great man. One that would have been valued would he have lived more, and one that was undoubtedly honored in his life, by those he loved,” He looked at Rahn, “and those he just knew. However, we can only do so much to prevent death from taking it's own course, and preventing us from further cherishing those who we wish we still had today.” He nodded in finality, and slowly unclipped the hot stone from his bracer.

He stopped himself from placing the stone on the pyre, and clenched his fist around it. “Rahn, I'd like you to instead have the honor to do this. It is one that I feel you deserve.” Rahn and Grol'nok both blinked, and Rahn slowly picked herself up, making her way up to the stage. Bragdana placed the stone firmly in her hand, smiling at the widow and nodding.

Rahn slowly placed the stone on the pyre and watched with amazement as the fire spread from the stone. In a matter of seconds, half the pyre was aflame. Bragdana took the woman, pulled her off the stage, and knelt down, pushing the pyre off. The burial pyre, already half in the water, was happy to oblige.

Slowly, the pyre drifted out to the center of the lake, dissolving away as it got closer to the opposite edge and farther away from the group of the living. Finally, the pyre disappeared, the black ash being carried away against the golden Nagrand sunset.

[FlyingSquirrel]

IX

Bragdana's hand hurt. It had hurt. It probably would hurt for a while after this. However, Grol'nok had told Bragdana that the pain would subside, so the Orc was left with a pained hand and a skeletal minion to keep him company. The Greenskin lifted up the bandages covering the palm and peeked at the wound. The place where whatever had entered had entered was pure burnt skin, and nothing else. He sighed, and set the bandages back in place.

He looked at the minion, then looked away. Grol'nok turned the corner, “Right. Bragdana, we start with your unofficial training today, like things you'll need to fight, etcetera. Follow me.” The Mag'har turned the corner once more, and Bragdana stood up, following him. There were the three items the Elements had given him – The Water's Tear, the Stone's Circle and the Air's feather, all laid out in a triangle. “Hold your hand, palm down, in the center of the triangle.” The Greenskin obeyed. “Today, you will be learning how to absorb fire to your own advantage. First, your hand, but later, your body.”

The Greenskin cocked his head to the side, “Wait, why am I doing this, then?” “Because, by putting your hand in the center of all Elements, you're saying that fire is the most important to you, yet you still respect all others. That's needed for this. Now, follow.” The Pyremaster turned and walked away, “You can pick your hand up.”

The apprentice did lift his hand and followed the brown Orc. The greenskin was led to a fire. The Mag'har gestured to the bonfire, which roared. “Stick your hand inside.” Bragdana raised an eyebrow but, by now, the Mag'hars tactics had worked, so he just obeyed. The fire did what fire usually did, and burnt his skin. Bragdana yelped and pulled his arm back, “Nope, put it back in there.” Bragdana hesitated, but plunged his arm in again, despite all his own wishes. The pain was horrid, but it was short-lived. After a bit, the fire began to lick at his skin, more a soothing pain than anything. “Right, you can withdraw your hand now.”

The Greenskin slowly obeyed – He had actually liked the feeling of the fire licking against his skin. The Mag'har pulled a dagger from his hip-sheathe and cut into the Orcs fire arm, lightly, “Arm into the fire again.” The Orc thrust his arm into the fire all too gratefully, and the fire once again circled around the arm. Slowly, a piece of fire crept onto the arm, burning for a second before returning to the to the calming, soothing sensation. The fire completely enveloped his arm, and the burning sensation of his wound was soon over-taken with the smooth caressing of the fire.

Bragdana pulled his hand back and looked at it with amazement. The cut, miraculously, was gone, and as was the hair that he had never really wanted to shave, and the bandages with them. Gron'lok looked at it and nodded solemnly, “Now, put in your other hand.” Bragdana was all too glad to comply, and was met with a scolding at the hands of the bonfire. He looked at the Mag'har, who merely replied with a shrug, “Just try to get the fire in your hand to spread over your body. When you've believe you've done it... Well, you know how to try.” The Mag'har nodded at Bragdana, before turning around and walking away. The green Orc looked at him, confused, before turning back to the bonfire.

He fit his good hand into the fire and let the fire overtake his hand, before slowly trying to withdraw the fire. His plan worked. However, now he had a gauntlet of fire, and that fire was slowly diminishing. A few minutes and it would undoubtedly be gone. He put his hand back into the fire and let the fire crawl reload, keeping the arm in the fire as he thought. “I wouldn't do that.” Bragdana pulled his hand from the fire, looking at Gron'lok, “The fire can burn even us if we let it stay too long. If you're truly lost for an answer, however, you can return to the Throne of the Elements. The spirits of Fire on our plane may be able to help you.”

The Greenskin furrowed his eyebrows, “But how would I get down?” Gron'lok turned around, “I got you a Wyvern. Feel free to use it for the rest of the day, for whatever you'd want to use it for. As long as it's not harmed in the end, it's fine.” Bragdana nodded his thanks to his mentor, and hurried to the Wyvern, getting on it's back. He kicked it lightly in the side, and took off to the Throne of Elements. The short flight was incredibly un-exciting in every way possible, and the Orc got off the Wyvern, letting it take off to home, or where-ever it'd go. He finished the small hike to the ever burning glade, and sat down. He crossed his legs and began to meditate.

He had an image of him reaching into the fire and taking out a globe of fire, which he would plunge into his left hand, much like what had happened to the right hand. He watched the vision for a bit longer, before deciding that he had the idea. He, quickly, returned to where he'd landed and whistled for the Wyvern. The Wyvern landed, and he went on it's back. The beast took off for the hovel.

The Orc landed and scrambled off the Wyvern, rushing to the Bonfire. Any bystander would think that he'd just had an epiphany, although this could very well count for one. He felt exhilarated and excited as he thrust his good hand into the fire. He waited for the fire to completely cover his arm, before closing his hand on the bit of fire. The rest of the fire was yanked from his hand, and he slowly pulled the hand from the fire. He knew he mustn't look at the ball of fire that was within his hand.

He formed his hands into the formation where almost every angle was protected, except for a few holes. Slowly, he felt the fire entering his hand again, something that sounds much more painful then it actually was. It was soothing to the Orc, actually. He liked how it felt. Without wasting another second, he thrust both hands into the fire, closing his eyes as he waited for the result. The soothing fire, as usual, crept up to about halfway up his forearm. Except, then it kept moving. It kept crawling up the Orc's body until he, and his clothes, remained untouched by it's usually harmful nature. As the fire went down to his feet, and completely covered him, he let out a triumphant shout, “Yes! I did it!” He had never felt that proud of himself.

[FlyingSquirrel]

X

Bragdana loved the bonfire now. If it were living, he'd marry it. Every time fire crept onto his body, it made him feel rejuvenated, young again. He even was beginning to think that the scars on his fists were diminishing. However, Grol'nok told him that this would not happen, and for him to stop doing it so constantly. As a Pyremaster he, sadly, had to do more then let fire creep over his arm all day.

So, he had spent his time meditating. The Elements were becoming more and more receptive to his desperate pleas for talks, and he could now actually speak with them. Especially Fire. Fire had been helping him a lot as of late, telling him what he needed to do next, for any of Grol'nok's odd tests for his ability. In return, he'd been spending most of his free time either meditating or doing any tasks that the Elemental needed done of him. He was doing his best to seem like the perfect generic Shaman.

He had just finished his daily meditation when Grol'nok turned the corner, “Bragdana, you're almost done. You have two more things to do. One of which, and the thing that you're focusing on today, is the ability to raise a skeleton to serve you, or to augment your weapons, both of which using fire. That is what you have to learn today. Now, return to meditating.”

The Greenskin sat and closed his eyes as the Brownskin left. The Elemental responded almost instantly, giving the in-training Pyremaster an image of a ball of fire, the surface rolling over with thin layers of fire on top of fire. Bragdana guessed that this must be the thing that had been pushed into both of his hands. The image transformed into a shapeless figure pushing said ball into the ribcage of a skeleton, and the skeleton bursting into flames, before picking it's self up.

The vision transformed once more into a shapeless figure. This time, the figure was pushing a smaller globe into an axe. The axe illuminated the figure's front side as it's surface became wrought with flame, exploring it's new home. The vision flashed once more, and Bragdana saw the man cauterizing his friends wounds with the axe. Bragdana only could imagine what that would do to his enemies.

He mentally thanked the Elemental that had helped him, then picked himself up. The bonfire, as always, was burning behind him. He put both his hands into the fire and formed a small shell for the fire to group in. The fire did so, and he withdrew his hands, not peeking within them as he walked to the hovel.

The Skeletal corpse was on the altar, flame extinguished or absorbed, Bragdana couldn't guess. He slowly took off the top-covering hand and stared at the fiery orb. It was transparent and soothing to his hand, as always. Everything he saw through it was perfectly clear, but not the same. It was as if his old, messed up hand was suddenly young again. No wrinkles, no scars, nothing.

He nodded to himself and slowly inserted the orb into the skeleton's ribcage, as he had seen just moments before in the Elemental-lent vision. The orb of fire floated down to the spot where the heart usually was before... doing nothing. It just floated there and twirled innocently. Bragdana narrowed his eyes at the orb, standing there for a bit, waiting for it to do something.

Eventually, the Orb dissolved. Bragdana narrowed his eyes at the empty ribcage. He tapped his chin, before sighing and returning to the bonfire to meditate more. The same vision played over and over again, tantalizing the Orc with knowledge that was just out of his mental grasp. His mental eye searched through the image, but could find nothing. He sighed, and picked himself up. He'd have to go ask Grol'nok.

The island was too small for him to not find Grol'nok. The elderly Mag'har was sitting on the edge of the floating island, in a mixture between meditating and daydreaming. Bragdana approached him cautiously, “Alright, so. I'm stuck. I tried following the directions I was given to resurrect a Skeleton, but that didn't work.... Could I get a pointer?”

The Mag'har grinned, and pushed himself up, “Bragdana, to the far east is our village. Or, what remains of it. Check the floor of the chieftain's old house, and you may see it.” And so, with that semi-cryptic message, Bragdana got on the Wyvern and rode to the ground, before morphing into a spirit wolf and taking off to the east.

He let his instincts take him where he needed to go, eventually trailing off the well-traversed trail and into the sparse wilds. No animals bothered him and, eventually, he could no longer see any civilization. Just the endless plains of greens, trees and animals. However, eventually, a large domed roof met his sights. He pushed on to the edge of the town, before demorphing and looking around. The general ruins of houses could barely be seen, but the domed house of what would most likely be considered a Town Hall still stood. Bragdana remembered that the Chieftain's house was behind the large building, so he made his way behind it.

The ruins were in surprisingly good condition; good enough so that Bragdana had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the dim light in the one-room house. He immediately scanned the floor for any rune, or anything of the sort. He just saw a hole. An animal, only identifiable by the small amount of light glancing off it's eyes, peeked out of it's hole. Bragdana narrowed his eyes at the thing but, before any more action could be taken, the animal had returned to it's burrow.

No other symbol, or anything out of the ordinary, was on the floor. Disappointed, the Orc returned to the floating island which had housed him for the past few weeks with nothing to show for his effort but dustier feet. The sun was setting outside, and Grol'nok was already asleep, so Bragdana began to set his bed out. Basically, a bunch of furs. The sun had completely set by the time he was done and the Orc lay on his back, furs tossed to the side. He looked over his right hand, thinking aloud.

“What did I see on the floor? I saw a hole... An animal... A prairie dog, maybe?” He closed his eyes, and the single word flashed into his mind, “Life.”

[FlyingSquirrel]

XI

Bragdana hadn't been able to sleep – He'd spent the night trying to figure out the meaning of the word 'life'. He had no solution from his night-long thought process, so he'd decided to plea to Grol'nok for help the next day. The Pyremaster had just given him another cryptic message, this time a haiku.

You went to the north
Appeased fire, water, air and earth
One thing left to serve

This had been a pretty blatant answer to Bragdana. Life was a 5th element, perhaps. And the closest thing to that was the spirits. Along with that, the only adventure he could think of to the north was the hike he'd had to the Throne of Elements with Grol'nok and his Broken friend. However, when he'd gone there, there had been no '5th element.' Vralach was the Broken's name, right? Perhaps Vralach wouldn't give him such cryptic messages.

Bragdana thanked Grol'nok and got on the Wyvern, flying to the Throne. At first, he was searching for something that he would have missed the first time. However, the throne had cliffs on the north and south and mountains on the east and west – Nothing he'd missed. Then he looked for the Broken, who was easier to find. The Greenskin waited for the Broken to finish meditating, before talking to him.

“Vralach, I've reached a pit in my journey to become a Pyremaster, and I was hoping to come to you for... better assistance. You see, Gron'lok merely provided me with a haiku pointing me to here, and saying I had one thing left to serve. I reached the conclusion, with some previous evidence, that the fifth thing was life. However, I'm at a failure of how to serve life.”

“Orc, say this to yourself, “How can I help life?”. Then, think of how you serve all the other elements. Do you help them finish tasks they cannot do themselves? What do those tasks ensure?” The Orc looked at the Broken with a stare of pure confusion, “Uh, okay. How can I help life? I usually help other elements by killing things that corrupt, or fight them.” “And what fights life?” “Uh... Other life? Diseases?” The Broken turned around, picking himself up in the process, “Think earlier... How does something fight life at the origin?” Bragdana tilted his head to the side, “Bad births?”

The Broken nodded at Bragdana, pulling a map from his satchel and marking it as he spoke, “Orc, my people, or what were my people, as well as many other people, do not like your people, for easy reasons. However, one Human is about to give birth to the far west, at the worst time. You see, her mate's off hunting. So, it's your job to help her. Heal her, make sure the birth goes through as well as possible. Good luck.” He handed over the map to Bragdana, who nodded his thanks and quickly took off. The Broken called off, “You have two hours. Run like the wind~”. The wind picked up behind the Spirit Wolf's back, and sped him along his journey.

Bragdana got into the camp just at the perfect time. The Female was screaming her husband's name, the ground beneath her sodden. Bragdana pushed her gently onto her back, kneeling next to her and telling her to breath. Now, for reasons that you should not have to think hard about, I can not list the following actions that happened over the next 2 hours. We can just say that it was very gruesome, and Bragdana was very disgusted.

Bragdana had made sure the Woman was all healed, and as having her drink from one of the flasks he always had on him. He had wrapped the baby up in his hood and shawl, and put the newborn baby, in it's impromptu blanket, in the lap of the woman. He knew that he would not want to have to thank the Orc if he were in her position, and the thanks were already plenty given by just the looks she was giving him, when not staring at her new-born. So, he just nodded at her, returned to his wolf form, and left.

It was dark by the time he'd returned to Garadar, so he had to wait until the next day until he could do anything. When the next day came, he raced up to the Throne of Elements and reported his success to Vralach. The Farseer nodded, simply telling him to return to Gron'lok. Bragdana did so, and Gron'lok nodded as well, “We often do not deal with the beginning of life; Instead, the end of it. However, that does not mean that it was a bad thing. Now, try the Skeleton again.”

Bragdana rushed to the bonfire and slowly pulled an orb of fire from the bonfire, shielding it with a hand as he rushed into the hovel. He positioned the orb above the ribcage and moved his supporting hand from under it. Slowly, the orb descended into the ribcage. As soon as it touched the spine, it exploded, the whole minion becoming engulfed in flames before said flames slowly returned to the bones.

Bragdana staggered back as the mental link was opened between him and the minion. In the rush of the moment, he had not expected such a thing, and it caught him completely off guard. The Pyremaster talked slowly from behind him, “Think of standing up.” The Orc obeyed, and so did the Skeleton. “Anything that you think of, the Skeleton will do. That is why I always withdraw the fire from the skeleton before I meditate, so it doesn't kill something. Now, withdraw the fire. Put your hand into the ribcage.”

The Greenskin twisted his hand to the side, before twisting it once more, so that it was facing upwards and the palm was facing the spine. The fire was sucked back into his palm from all over the skeleton, and another orb of fire found it's way to his hand. “Now, Bragdana.” The Mag'har pointed to a box behind the altar, out of Bragdana's line of sight, “Your old axe of shadow is in that box. Deposit the globe of fire into your axe.” The younger Orc walked to the box and slowly opened it. No longer did the axe have any Shadow on it. It was now just a large thigh bone with many bone shards. Bragdana slowly pushed the orb of fire into the upper handle of the axe.

The axe exploded into flames, the flame completely replacing where the Shadow had once been. The bone shards began floating with the axe as Bragdana picked it up, and held the shape that the axe had had previously. It was the same axe, just with something better holding it together. Bragdana smiled as he moved the axe around, impressed with his own handi-work. Gron'lok spoke again, as his minion sprang back to life under his command, “Now, we have one more thing to teach you.”

[FlyingSquirrel]

XII

“So, Grol'nok, when did Life become an Element?” Bragdana sat next to his mentor, who chuckled at his question, “Well, it matters who you ask. To some, like Vralach, it is a fifth, less known Element, that deserves just as much servitude. Some believe that it isn't really an Element, but just another word for the Spirits. And some, like myself, believe that it's not associated with the Elements at all, but is often mistaken with one. Like what the Elves do on your world.” “Druidism?” “Yea, that.”

Bragdana nodded and pondered this new knowledge. “Wait, but if it's not one of the Elements, why could I not re... Why couldn't I raise the Skeleton without doing his task?” Grol'nok chuckled again, “Because, Bragdana, you didn't expunge all magic from the Skeleton first. You have to make -sure- that it's just a skeleton. Whether or not the task for Vralach was needed... Well, I'll let you think on that one.”

Bragdana looked at Grol'nok with a sigh, as if saying “Really? Well, f**k you too.” However, he didn't say that. No, he said “Well, when am I going to get my own Skeleton?” Grol'nok returned his eyes to the horizon, “Well, it depends. Do you want to force an enemy into servitude, or do you want to give a fallen warrior a second chance? I think the second would be more... you.” The Greenskin nodded in agreement, “And when will that be?” “When you deem it fit.”

Bragdana nodded and continued with the onslaught of questions, “Right. And you said I had one thing left to learn, correct? Well, when am I going to learn that last thing?” Grol'nok picked himself up with a long, drawn-out sigh, “Right now, I suppose.” He turned around and went into the hovel, his apprentice scrambling after him. The mentor placed an urn on the altar, “These are the ashes of your mother.” Bragdana blinked, and even though the 30 years she'd been dead, he still felt sad, that small feeling yanking at his heart. Grol'nok unceremoniously opened the urn and slowly laid out the ashes in a pile, “Today, you are learning how to talk to ashes.”

“Now, what you must do is...” The words blurred out as the greenskin focused on the ashes. Those were -his mom's- ashes? No, no. Grol'nok couldn't expect him to do -this-. This was wrong on so many levels! It was his mom, for crying out loud! The Greenskin snapped to, interrupting his mentor, “Grol'nok, I can't do this. I can't do this to my mother. I'm sorry.” Bragdana turned around, before Grol'nok took his turn to interrupt the younger, “Bragdana, if you can't do this, then you can't be a Pyremaster. If you cannot get over your mother and this, and you just leave, then both of our time will have been a waste. Now, c--.”

Bragdana turned around in a flurry of leather and rage, “No! I will not defile the woman who gave birth to me! She deserves better then to be some practice dummy for your twisted joy! Whatever happened to honor? What honor is there in grave-digging.” The corrupted Orc sneered as he turned around and left. A strong arm grabbed his own, stopping him from moving, “Bragdana, I'm not letting you leave. Not yet.”

Bragdana growled and turned around, punching his mentor in the jaw. The Mag'har stumbled back, his white beard already grimed by the dark red of blood. He raised a hand to his jaw, tracing his cut lip with a slow hand, as if he couldn't believe what had happened. Neither of them could. The fiery Skeleton made a move for Bragdana, but then stayed back. Bragdana turned back around, “I'm sorry, Grol'nok.” He raced out the door, got on the Wyvern, and flew off the island.

**

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**

Bragdana was halfway to Shattrath. The lights of the Ring of Trials were the only things illuminating his way, and those were the things he was going for. His wolf-pad paws tip-tapped idly on the plain of grass as he passed across it. He passed over a shoddy bridge, then curled up to sleep on the other side of the ravine, under a cliff and tree.

“Bragdana, you've come too far to quit.” The Spirit Wolf woke up to the Draenei spirit before him, only visible by a bright blue outline. Other then that, it was pitch black. He demorphed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “Hm?” The Spirit spoke again, her voice completely void of anything to tell her mood from, “You've come too far to quit, Bragdana. Tomorrow, you will return to Grol'nok and finish your training. In return, I will make sure that he does not use your mother's ashes.”

“Wait, what? No! No! He wanted me to defile my mother! I won't do that for someone like him!” “Bragdana, if you do not do this, then we'll be back to base one. The Elements will hate you, and so will yourself. You do not want to be there, nor do I want to watch you be there. So, you will return, power through this time, and then bask in the glow of victory. I'll wake you up with the sun, so that you'll be able to get their quicker, and subsequently get it over with quicker.” The spirit evaporated, and the Orc leaned back, “Oh, f**k me.”

[FlyingSquirrel]

XIII

The spirit stayed true to her word, and Bragdana was awakened much earlier then he'd of preferred. As had happened many times before in his small adventure, he was going northwest against every fiber of his being. As the floating island home came into view, the wind swept beneath his feet, lifting him up as he ran. He was deposited on the edge of the island, and walked into the hovel. Grol'nok was sleeping on the altar, which had been converted to a bed via clefthoof padding. So, Bragdana sat and waited for the elder to wake up.

The elder did wake up, and stared at the Spirit Wolf in his door suspiciously. “Your spirit has a way with words.” Bragdana demorphed, “The spirit isn't mine. I wish I knew how to control her, but I don't.” The Mag'har laughed bitterly and nodded. An awkward silence took up the time between the two, until Bragdana decided to split it, “I apologize for my overreaction, Grol'nok.” The Mag'har cut him off with a hand, “No, it was my bad. I went too far. No-one should have to, as you put it, defile their own family.”

The Greenskin nodded, “Still, I shouldn't have overreacted.” The two nodded, and the awkward silence came once again to take it's rightful spot. That was, until Grol'nok's minion returned with another urn. The ashes were once again made into a pile, and Grol'nok led Bragdana to the ashes, “Now, stick your hand into the ash and set it on fire.” To any other Orcish Shaman, this would seem like some weird Circus trick lead-up, but Bragdana knew what this was. He slowly slid his hand in under the ashes, and began to call the fire. About a minute later, and the ashes came alive with fire. Bragdana's eyes took a fiery look, and he was transported into the thoughts of ashes.

A large group of memories appeared before the Orc Shaman, organized in a square like fashion with a picture of each memory. He started at the first. It was a regular memory and, after a few minutes, Bragdana was able to deem that his eyes were around the age of five. It was just a regular day, kids tossing a ball around. It seemed to be a version of Monkey-in-the-Middle, with Bragdana as the kid in the middle.

The memory faded to black as Bragdana finally caught the ball in his hands, and the next memory had Bragdana crouching in a bush. He pushed someone out of the bush, into the eyesight of an angry Talbuk. The Talbuk charged, and Bragdana's friend ran. Bragdana fell backwards onto the ground, laughing until he cried.

More and more memories passed, until Bragdana found himself talking to Grol'nok. He was learning to become a Pyremaster again. Except, Grol'nok's hair was brown. And Bragdana was a girl. Each of these memories were in vivid detail, as if the person had died near these memories. However, Bragdana failed to catch on to this.

Grol'nok, once again, went through everything Bragdana had learned over the last month and a half, as a sort of recap. Each memory was it's own. And then, Bragdana was near an aged Clefthoof, with three other Mag'har teenagers. Each had a different weapon and, in Bragdana's hand, was a Stone Dagger with fur running up the center, and a fang for a handle. The weapons they had were pathetic in comparison to the Clefthoof. Regardless, the kids tried.

It was a slaughter. The Clefthoof quickly impaled one of the friends, trampled the next, and batted the second-to-last aside with it's snout. Last was Bragdana. She clutched the dagger tightly in her hand as the Clefthoof charged her. Last thing Bragdana remembered was closing his eyes. His trance snapped, and he looked about.

It was night. Beside him was a large slab of meat and a vase of water, and he had never felt more hungry, or thirsty. Grol'nok approached him from behind and waited for him to finish his feast, before speaking up. “Bragdana, you spent three days in there. You can't do that again. Yes, I understand that the Past is fascinating, especially when you are to learn something new, but it just can't be so obsessed over. One can die if they spend too long in there, Bragdana.”

Bragdana sighed, “Can you tell me one thing, then? Who was that girl?” Grol'nok sighed and sat down, “She was my former student. I figured that it would be best to show you what happened to her. Yes, Bragdana, nature's most destructive force can no longer hurt you, but animals can be just as bad.” Bragdana nodded at his mentor, “I'm sorry.”

“No, no, it's something that happens to everyone. We just have to live and learn.” He nodded, then turned and left, leaving Bragdana and his thoughts.

[FlyingSquirrel]

Yes, it's only 15 posts. GTFO.

Epilogue

The Mag'har-made Clefthoof bag hugged to Bragdana's back as his feet dully thudded on the ground below him. He had the Pyremaster's clothes and jar of white powder in the backpack. His Flame Axe, former Shadow Axe, was held in both his hands, as the dagger was in a small sheathe at his side. It was midday, with the sun viciously beating down on him. Shattrath was ahead of him, but it wasn't his destination.

As he walked, he slowly turned into his spirit wolf form, and began jogging across the plain. Before long, that jog turned into a reserved sprint, as he raced across the green plains. He raced through Shattrath, and into Terokkar. Only when he passed the destroyed Cenarion settlement did he slow down. That jog slowed to a walk, which had him turn once more into an Orc.

He walked slowly through the forest until once more the ruined Draenei farm came into view. The axe, his axe, was hanging 3 feet above the ground, slowly twirling. Bragdana nodded, and grabbed the axe, which had an open skull case. He went directly to the north, and a mound of dirt nearly tripped him. He knelt and began digging. The child Draenei corpse was there, full.

Bragdana, painstakingly, picked up each bone and re-assembled it in the correct position. Bragdana looked around for a source of fire. Other then his axe, there was none. However, his hands could keep the fire around. Maybe it could generate his own. He placed his two hands in the globe-formation, and slowly let the heat come in his video. It took him a bit less then an hour to get a reasonable size. Slowly, he deposited the orb of fire into the skeleton's ribcage.

The Skeleton was covered in fire, blotting out all details. Then, the cocoon of fire began to dissolve, and the Draenei Skeleton rose. Bragdana knew he wouldn't need to command the Skeleton – The same feeling Grol'nok's skeleton gave him. They were ready to do whatever you needed. He smiled at the Skeleton, I suppose all of you is better then just the skull?

He heard a chuckle behind him, and grinned at the Draenei Spirit that now loomed over his shoulder, “I suppose. Just keep me with you, and you'll be fine.” He grinned, and handed the Draenei Skeleton the Fire Axe. Despite the near ungainly size of the axe to the Draenei, it fit her. Bone and fire with bone and fire.

He had a sneaky suspicion that the Sha'tar wouldn't really take too kindly to a flaming skeleton of their own kind entering a city, behind any race, especially that of an Orc. However, another Orc would probably understand it. The closest Orc settlement was to the south. So, he began trudging to the south, the Skeleton following loyally behind.

It felt odd to have a permanent link to something other then his own body. He was sure, however, that the feeling would slowly become regular to his body, and thus be okay. At least, he hoped it would. He entered the town unabashed. Any non-Orcs who were to speak up had what he was explained to them, and they quickly became quiet.

He approached one of the Orcs, who saluted Bragdana, who nodded in return. “Where could I get a portal to Azshara? Azshara Crater, specifically. There are a few people there who I've been yearning to see for a while now, and I'm looking for a way quicker then walking.” The Grunt nodded, and barked at a Blood Elf. Said Blood Elf began organizing the runes for the portal. The Grunt returned his stare back to Bragdana, “Is there any way I can aid you in the mean time, Pyremaster?” Bragdana nodded, “No, I'm fine. Thanks for the help, though.” He wait until the Blood Elf had finished the portal, before nodding his thanks to everyone and walking through.

**

**

**

I found my journal again. I redid the cover, so that now the elemental drawing of fire controls the center of it, while the other four elements each control a corner. Then, on the back, I put a picture of a Draenei and an Orc, with the two axes above it. Admittedly, the drawing sucks, but eh, I'll get over it. I'll get the skull holding case erased from my old axe, so it looks regular.

One thing I'm worried about, though, is now Nexi and them will react. Since when have Draenei liked Orcs? And even worse, why would she like an Orc with a skeleton following it around? Oh, and on the skeleton. I decided to name her Kure. In the limited amount of Draenic I know, that means redeemer. At least, I think. I hope it does, because then I'll look stupid.

I think it fits her. She's redeemed me more then once, and so does she deserve any less then a name? Perhaps I owe the Draenei more then I've ever given her.