Wrekka

[JVNemesis]

(I love my IC threads. New character time. This is, obviously, in the past.)




The camps were no place to grow up. They would breed no proud warriors, no honorable continuations of the orcish culture. Only bitterness and resentment, anger and scars, would come from those cages.

And, as she would so many other times, Rekka both met and failed the expectations laid out for her.

Karta was Warsong; imprisonment or no, guards or no, her daughter was not going to have her heritage and pride stolen by their human captors. “This ain't gonna be your life,” she said, shaking Rekka's chin gently. “You'll be more than this. We won't be in here forever, and when we get out, I'll show ya our home.” Her eyes left Rekka's face, scanning through the crowd of listless, dull eyes, until they settled on the one pair looking back at her.

Her gaze locked with the one they called Angermaw.

Karta watched him as she ran her fingers through Rekka's hair. “And I'll bring your dad, too.” She smiled down at her attentive little girl. “He's not sure he wants to. But he will. Don't you ever let anyone tell you 'no' when you want somethin', ya hear? Nothin's gonna be outta yer reach.” Rekka nodded, and Karta ruffled her child's hair again. “We got so much ta show ya once we get outta here.” She waved a hand, encompassing the crowd of despondent orcs, the patrolling human guards, and the hated, suffocating walls of the camp. “Can't say what's left of Draenor now,” she continued, “but there's a whole new world to see here. We carved a chunk of it for ourselves once, and we'll do it again. You mark my words, Rekks, 'cause you're gonna be there when it happens.”

Rekka watched her intently, hanging onto every word with the adoration and hero worship reserved only for the parents of young children. “You'n me, momma?” She asked, anxious, still unable to imagine a world without her mother.

A world that would soon be hers.

Karta squeezed her daughter against her side tightly. “You'n me, Rekks,” she said, eyes straying to Angermaw again, “you, me, and-”

Karta cut off with a muted snarl as the whip cracked across her back, sending her staggering forward and dragging Rekka with her protectively. She turned, baring her teeth at the human who stood behind her.

Kalen gaze her the nasty grin she hated so much, flicking the heavy whip lazily. “What's that, beast?” He asked, tone mocking and derisive, “making vacation plans with your little brat? What've I told ya about thinking?”

Karta opened her mouth to reply, to snarl something at her constant tormentor, when Rekka pushed by her, baring her little fangs in imitation of her mother. “Rekka-”

“Don'chu hit ma momma,” Rekka growled, the sound too high-pitched (to say nothing of the source) to be intimidating, “or I'm gonna-”

Without so much as batting an eye, Kalen cracked the whip at Rekka's face. The girl didn't even have a chance to flinch before Karta was in front of her, grunting as the damnable whip tore her midriff open. She staggered but remained standing, interposed between her daughter and the human guard that hated them so.

“You're quick, beast,” Kalen commented, tone casual...then he snapped the whip again, lashing her viciously. “That's for getting in front of me,” he continued as Karta grunted again, glaring at him. “Now look down. You and your filthy kind aren't fit to even look at us.”

Karta stared at him fearlessly, gaze unwavering even as she silently pushed Rekka behind her. Kalen grinned his terrible grin, and the uncaring cruelty in his eyes scared Karta.

But not for her own sake.

“Get down on the ground where you belong, beast,” Kalen said softly, “or I'll take your lashes out of your brat's face.”

And that was the only thing that would make Karta Bloodhowl, warrior of the Warsong, back down.

After a long moment, Karta broke her stare, looking away from the maliciously pleased human, and sinking to her knees in the dirt, head down and the weight of shame heavy on her.

Kalen stepped closer, and Karta tensed. “I guess animals can learn,” Kalen said softly. “Watch yourself, b***h. How do you think it'll feel, to watch your brat die?”

Karta bared her teeth, growling deep in the back of her throat, but did not rise to the bait.

“What, you don't like that? Well, that's really just too bad, isn't it?” His voice roughened. “You don't get to choose, you filthy animal. Beasts do as they're told...” He pressed the handle of the whip into the back of her neck, pushing hard. “...or it's the slaughterhouse for them. Which is it going to be, b***h?”

Karta could have easily shattered his wrist, twisted the whip around and broken his neck before any other guards could reach her. A myriad ways to kill her tormentor swam through her mind...but she caught sight of Rekka out of the corner of her eye, her daughter's hands clenched into fists...

...And Karta, face burning with shame and humiliation, allowed Kalen to shove her face down into the dirt.

“There you go, beast. Feel better, being back where you belong?” Kalen's mocking voice almost made her reconsider, but Karta knew she couldn't. She remained silent.

“Much better,” the human said, satisfied, and dealt her a vicious blow along the back of the head with the whip's heavy handle, sending her sprawling as he stalked away. Rekka was at her side a moment later, the child's worried face rippling faintly in Karta's vision. She hugged her daughter tightly, and the girl buried her face in Karta's chest.

“M'tellin' you, Rekks,” she murmured, stroking the girl's head soothingly even as her head pounded, “we won't be in here forever. I promise.” She took Rekka's face in her hands. “Look at me, Rekks.” The girl did, and Karta squeezed her gently. “Don't you ever let anyone push you around, ya hear me? No one's better than you, and you knock'em down if they act like it. Don't you back down from anyone. Your name's Rekka'nar; it's a strong name, a warrior's name. You're gonna be a real piece'a work some day, Rekks, and no'un's gonna want to tangle with you. Ya hear me, girl?”

Rekka nodded. “Ya, momma.”

“You're gonna do big things, I know it.”

The girl was silent a moment. “You gonna be proud of me when I'm tough like you, momma?”

Karta drew Rekka against her and hugged her tightly. “Yeah, Rekks. I'm always proud'a you. You're a real good kid, and I'll get ya outta here. I promise.”

And as her daughter snuggled contentedly in her arms and blood oozed down her back, Karta wondered how many of those promises she could keep.

[JVNemesis]

Who needs proofreading. Pssssh.


“Feeding time,” the warden called, stepping up onto his podium as he did every day. “Come on, you lot. You know the drill.”

The orcs shuffled forward obediently, mechanically, into the three haphazard lines they formed twice a day, every day, in front of the three humans and their buckets of food…if it could be called such. Karta was very careful to steer Rekka and herself into the lane furthest from Kalen.

It was barely enough food for the orcs, larger than the humans as they were; enough to keep them alive, but not enough to stave off the aches, stabs, and weakness of hunger. Karta was painfully familiar with those feelings. She had been tall and powerful once, muscular, straight-backed and proud. A true warrior of the Horde, one who would never have allowed herself to be caged and collared.

How the mighty had fallen.

Karta did not try and fool herself; she was a wasted shadow of the orc she had been. She had withered, muscles growing thin and stringy. The frustration at her predicament, the near-maddening hatred she held for their captors…there was only one, specific reason all that had not boiled over.

“Hey, momma,” Rekka said, tugging on her sleeve urgently, “M’hungry.”

Karta ruffled her daughter’s hair fondly. “S’why we’re in line, Rekks. Ain’t this how we always get food?”

Rekka growled, and the sound made Karta grin. “I know, I know, momma. I meant, think we gonna get anythin’ different this time?”

Karta’s smile faded slightly, and she moved her fingers through the kid’s hair gently. “I don’t think so. Why ya askin’ that?”

The girl frowned, kicking the dirt as the line shuffled forward. “Can’t be all the food’s like that, righ’? Maybe they gonna run outta this stuff.”

And there it was. The reason she kept going, kept living in this hateful place. The reason she kept Rekka looking forward, the reason she hadn’t just smothered her daughter on the night of her birth to save her from this.

Hope. Hope that this would not be their end. Hope that this would not last forever.

Hope.

And Karta was still not sure if she was a fool for believing in it.

She hugged Rekka tightly around the shoulders. “They might, Rekks. They might. Maybe tomorrow.”

Rekka sighed impatiently, shrugging out of her mother’s embrace. “Well, m’ungry,” she muttered, craning her neck to see how the line was moving.

There was never enough food for a growing child. Karta kept her active, exercising; she would not allow her daughter to be reduced to a feeble runt, and she was perfectly willing to go hungry herself (and she frequently did) to keep Rekka healthy. The guards’ notion that growing pups required less food than everyone else made her want to bite something.

The line shuffled forward, and soon Rekka was next, bouncing on the balls of her feet in anticipation. Karta smiled fondly, ignoring the stabbing hunger pains in her gut.

The smile dropped off her face a moment later as the guard spooning out food for their line was tapped on the shoulder. He glanced up at his replacement in faint confusion, then shrugged and stood, moving away and thinking only of how convenient being relieved early was. Kalen sat down, picked up the ladle, smiled mirthlessly at Rekka, and Karta’s heart skipped a beat. She stepped forward with a growl, moving past Rekka and facing down her tormentor. She watched, tense, as the malicious human filled up a bowl, and…

…handed it to her without a word.

Karta stared at the proffered food, suspicious.

“Take your slop or I drop it,” Kalen said curtly, and Karta darted forward to catch the bowl as he released it immediately. She managed to rescue the food in time, stepping away and inspecting it carefully. She would not put it above him to put something into her food, but he had not had time. Why did he switch?

“Get going, cur,” Kalen spat at her, reaching for the whip coiled on his belt, and Karta stepped further back, away from the line…before she whirled back, heart skipping again as a pang of fear lanced through her.

Rekka trotted forward tentatively, wetting her lips as she waited at the table, her little head clearing it by a few inches only.

Kalen stared back at her expressionlessly, but the glint in his eyes made Karta start back towards them, the pang becoming a hammer. One of the guards, patrolling along the rows, looked at her. “No seconds,” he said sternly, “get back to the other side of the yard if you’ve got your food.”

Karta barely stopped herself from baring her teeth at him. She did not, however, nor did she move even as his hand fell to the club at his waist.

Rekka was, meanwhile, waiting nervously for Kalen, who still only stared back at her. “…Can I ‘ave some?” She asked finally, fingers fluttering anxiously.

Kalen smiled. “No seconds,” he told her. “So get going.”

Rekka’s mouth worked silently for a few seconds. “But,” she protested, “I ain’t ‘ad any yet!”

Kalen shifted slightly in his chair, moving something under the desk. “No, seconds,” he repeated.

“But-”

The human moved, his arm snapping up and across the table. The whip he had uncoiled seconds before blurred across the table and cracked against Rekka’s face. The girl cried out, reeling and staggering back as she clapped her hands to her face and neck.

Karta snarled, hackles rising as she lunged forward, only to meet the guard’s club slamming into her stomach. She hunched, grunting, and stumbled back to evade the follow-up blow. Slow! She raged at herself, baring her teeth at the human before her. Fighting was not an option. It just wouldn’t work. She raised her voice. “Rekka! G’back here!”

The little girl turned and staggered towards her, hands still clapped over her face, and Karta felt a rush of fury stronger than any emotion she’d experienced since the lethargy set in at the sight of the blood and tears on her daughter’s face. The human guard who struck Karta hesitated as Rekka rushed past him, then lowered his club. “Go on,” he said gruffly. “Keep the line moving.” He stepped back, and Karta met Kalen’s gaze.

He smiled at her, and mouthed ”I was aiming for the eye.”

Karta’s withered muscles trembled a moment, and then she turned away, catching Rekka in her arms and hugging the girl tightly. She stroked Rekka’s hair soothingly as her daughter sobbed against her. “Shh, shh, s’okay, Rekks. S’okay. Lemme see.” She pried Rekka’s head gently away from her shoulder, and she felt rage surge inside her again as she inspected the injury. Kalen’s whip had opened a line from Rekka’s collarbone all the way up to just beneath her ear. Blood oozed from the wound, and Rekka sniffled again, eyes brimming with tears.

Karta wiped them away. “Can’t cry, Rekks,” she said, using the hem of her ragged shirt to remove the blood and tears away. “Can’t ever let anyone see ya cry. You hear me, Rekks?”

Rekka nodded, still sniffling, and whimpered softly as she agitated the rip in her flesh. Karta continued to tend to her, leading Rekka away from the lines and into an isolated section of the yard. “Here,” she murmured, passing her daughter her food bowl. “Eat up.”

Rekka mumbled her thanks, digging into the bowl with one last sniffle as Karta cleaned her wound carefully, even as her woefully shrunken stomach ached for the nourishment she gave away.

“You’re fine, girl,” Karta told her after a moment, patting Rekka reassuringly on the shoulder. “S’just a scratch.”

Rekka nodded again, eyes downcast. Karta lifted her head, scanning the faces of the orcs in the yard. In all that commotion, he had to have seen…

The face she was looking for was not there, and Karta’s jaw tightened. She hugged Rekka to her firmly, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “Did I ever tell you about the time I took out two Burning Blade berserkers at the same time?”

Rekka looked up, eyes widening. “No, momma.”

“You wanna hear about it?”

“Yeah, momma!” Rekka chirped cheerfully, attention temporarily diverted from her injury.

Hope, Karta thought, as she launched into the tale.

She had to keep it alive.

[JVNemesis]

Two strokes, and a human fell. Crosswise slash, and a head flew free. Axe haft blocking an incoming sword, then her bladed gauntlet slammed into the next human’s face, and he dropped too. She caught another sword around the grip and crushed her opponent’s hand before she rammed the spikes on her pauldrons into his face, cutting his scream short.

Four humans dead in less than ten seconds.

Karta threw back her head and roared, a braying howl that scattered the few remaining humans in the area.

Weaklings.

The opposing force was scattering, unable to stand against the might of the Horde. Karta bared her teeth in a savage grin, then buried her axe in the back of a crawling human. “Clean up the leftovers and regroup,” she barked, hefting her axe up to rest on her shoulder. She surveyed the battlefield as her officer darted off, shouting her instructions. Similar skirmishes were taking place across the plains and forests, and on all fronts, the humans were retreating, their forces routed. Karta looked out across the field, past the fleeing humans towards their (and the Horde’s) destination.

Soon, they would besiege Stormwind itself, and the city would fall.

She spat in the churned dirt, brushing grime from her bronzed, almost red armor. The plates slid smoothly as she moved, the finely crafted, metal not catching. It was lighter and far more ornate than she was used to, but the rune-etched armor was more fitting for someone of her station than the garb she had owned previously. Victories should be rewarded, after all. She shifted the great two-handed axe she bore, adjusting its set against the curving blades on her pauldrons.

A shout from her left turned Karta’s attention to a handful of her soldiers scattering under the charge of a trio of those human beasts; warhorses. Two were armored in the silver plate now associated with knights, but the one in the lead was garbed more ornately, the plume of his fine helm rippling in the wind. A blue cloak etched with golden filigree streamed out behind him, and the sword he held high glimmered in the blood red light of the sunset.

And they were on a beeline straight for her.

Karta smirked, turning smoothly on her heel to face the officer’s final charge. If he was honorable enough to die rather than face defeat, she would indulge him.

She stepped forward, stooping to snatch up a fallen blade and hurl it towards the incoming riders. The officer jerked his steed aside in time, but the projectile sword thudded into the chest of the soldier on his side, toppling him backwards off his mount. He did not rise. The officer snarled something in his strange tongue that Karta couldn’t understand as he bore down on her. She bared her teeth in a feral grin, then threw herself to the side and thrust her axe out as the officer tried to ride her down. She cut his steed’s legs out from underneath it in one vicious stroke, and it fell with a high-pitched squeal. The human commander, in a surprising display of agility considering his armor, managed to leap free before his crippled mount crushed him, staggering but righting himself swiftly. The sole remaining rider broke off as his commander fell, circling uncertainly.

Karta watched the human as he lifted his sword, and she could see the anger and desperation in his eyes, the eyes of an opponent who knows he has lost but refuses to lie down and die.

Karta respected that. She pulled her helm free, tossing it away and shaking out her topknot. She would give him that much. The commander eyed her warily, blade ready. She raised her axe in a warrior’s salute. “I’m glad you understand ‘Victory or Death’, human!” She roared, and then charged, slashing downwards at him. Her opponent batted her axe aside, retaliating, and Karta caught his strike in the short blades attached to her forearms, shifting her axe to a one-handed grip and shoving him back.

Back and forth they battled, trading blows as the commander’s cowardly underling watched, unwilling or unable to find an opening to enter the struggle. Predictably, it was his hesitation that caused his commander’s death, as the officer shot an outraged glance towards his frozen subordinate. Karta struck in that millisecond of distraction, and the officer howled as her axe cleaved through his arm at the elbow. Blood sprayed from the stump, his sword fell, and they both knew it was over. The human, astoundingly, doggedly, carried on, sole remaining hand fumbling for a knife at his belt. He managed to draw it, hold shaky, and then Karta’s iron grip closed around his.

“You fought well,” she told him, then twisted his hand around and rammed the blade into his eye. He shuddered once, slumping backward once she released her grip on his hand, and then did not move again.

Thus was the humans’ defeat completed. Karta threw back her head and howled her triumph, thrusting her axe high as she heard her forces echo the victory roar.

She looked over at the white-faced human still frozen atop his horse, and Karta smiled. She turned toward him, slowly, and then paused as she heard a shout.

“General! General Bloodhowl!”

Karta turned, and- ”What?” She asked, slightly miffed at being interrupted.

Rekka was staring at her, awestruck. “Izzat all true, momma? You that good?”

Karta cuffed her daughter gently. “You think I’d lie to you, Rekks?”

“No, momma.”

“Then hush and let me tell the story, ya?”

Rekka nodded eagerly, and Karta smirked before resuming her tale.

“General! General Bloodhowl!” One of her legionnaires came trotting up to her, panting. “You’re needed, urgently.” He looked past her at the human, who was only now beginning to gather his wits. “…What about that one?”

Karta looked back at Kalen, and smiled at him. “Leave the coward to remember what he did,” she said, making what was perhaps the gravest error of her life.

Karta did not tell her daughter who she had so foolishly spared.

She looked away from the human as he finally kicked his horse into motion, focusing on her legionnaire. “What’s the problem?” She asked, wiping her axe blade clean on the fallen commander’s tabard. She scowled. “And stop cringing. Stand up straight. Come on now. Speak!”

The legionnaire cleared his throat. “Two of the Burning Blades got loose. They’re not backin’ down now that they’ve got a taste of blood again.”

Karta growled and popped her neck, her good mood spoiled. “Who let those things out?” She snarled, whirling around and stalking back the way the legionnaire came. He followed at her heels, stumbling slightly.

“Grunt Swordcutter was on duty. Got too close to the enclosure and…the big one grabbed him.” The legionnaire winced in sympathy.

Karta growled again, deep in her throat. “Stick a few arrows in’em,” she barked, kicking a corpse aside. “Barely worth the effort to keep’em around.”

The legionnaire nodded in agreement, and the rest of their trek was spent in grim silence.

It was quite clear when they drew close to the scene; orcs were shouting and running everywhere, and there were even a few screams of pain. Karta snarled again. This was not the triumphant victory they had earned.

And why were her soldiers running around in a panic like the humans they had just routed?

“Form ranks!” She barked, stalking through the disheveled camps, “are you peons or soldiers, you whelps? Get back in line!”

When she finally laid eyes on the source of her displeasure, Karta felt her hackles rise unconsciously. The brutes were bellowing and screaming, hulking orcs probably a full foot taller than Karta herself. They tore at the ground, at corpses, and brayed ferally, crimson eyes gleaming as they searched for prey.

Karta was all too happy to oblige.

The first brute fixed its gaze on her legionnaire and lunged, only to meet the haft of Karta’s axe cracking it across the face. It staggered, snarling, and brayed again when she repeated the motion, hitting the beast over and over until it lay still, unconscious.

Easy enough. She spun her axe back around to a ready position as the second berserker fixed its gaze on her.

It smiled, and Karta’s eyes narrowed. The brute paced closer, prowling back and forth like some kind of hulking hunting animal. An animal that was quite unlike the raging, ravening beast she had expected of the Burning Blade.

This one was different than the other.

Karta adjusted her stance, shifting her grip on her axe to a slightly more defensive posture. The berserker stooped…

…and picked up a sword. He watched her intently, and the calculated cunning in his eyes, quite unlike the maddened, blind rage of so many of his brethren, made Karta very, very wary.

“You,” the berserker said, his voice a deep, rumbling growl, “are the warlord here.” His lips curled. “A female.”

“Yeah,” Karta replied, mirroring his circling. “And you’re a raving lunatic in over your head. Get back in your cage, or I’ll put you down.”

The beast’s growl grew louder. “I will eat your heart, b***h,” he hissed, straightening. “I am Valg’araz, and I will take your life, and I will take your command.”

Karta smiled thinly. “Come’n try,” she said, and before the last word had left her mouth, the berserker was hurtling forward, frighteningly fast. Karta batted aside his opening lunge, then ducked under the quick punch he followed up with, his massive fist missing her head by a hair. Karta’s axe haft intercepted a knee aimed for her gut, and only a reflexive twist of her weapon parried the second stab. He was fast, he was vicious, and he knew what he was doing.

Karta disengaged, stepping back and whirling her axe to make some room. The berserker pursued her relentlessly, raining blow after blow without pause. Karta was by no means a combat novice (far from it; you did not become a general through incompetence), but it was all she could do to fend off his assault, using everything from her axe haft to the spikes on her forearms to keep his blade from biting her.

It became clear very quickly that she would not be able to wait for him to tire; the brute seemed to only be gaining momentum as the fight progressed. Froth was beginning to build around his lips, bubbling over to drip from his tusks, and his eyes were gleaming crimson with the bloodlust. She parried another blow, and when he drew his blade back for another strike, she saw a tiny notch in her axe head.

This had to end.

Karta twisted as he came back in, letting the sword glance off the spike on her pauldron and stealing some of its momentum before it hammered down on her shoulder. Pain blossomed, her entire arm vibrating under the strike, and she knew that was going to bruise spectacularly later. It didn’t matter, though; Karta’s twist had brought her other shoulder up to ram into the brute’s chest, and she jerked her arm high to compensate for her taller opponent. Her shoulder spike tore his face open, ripping a diagonal line from his below the corner of his mouth to just above his opposite eye, missing it by a hair’s breadth. The berserker bellowed, astoundingly not staggering back from the vicious injury, but he did blink, and that was all the respite Karta needed. She drew back her axe and slammed it down on his momentarily motionless sword and the weapon shattered at the point of impact, the brittle human weapon splintering into a storm of metal fragments. She spun her weapon, simultaneously striking him across the face with the heavy axe butt and ripping through the flesh and muscle just above his knee. Another spin as he was staggering caught him across the face with the flat of the axe blade, knocking him to the ground where he writhed like some maddened, crippled animal, snarling and snapping.

Karta turned away from the defeated berserker, glaring at the ring her soldiers had formed around them while the duel had been going on. She gave them a mocking bow. “Enjoy the show?” She barked, slinging her axe over her shoulder into its holster, “M’glad ya like seein’ me in action so much.”

A chuckle went up, one swiftly silenced as she continued. “Now whoever’s still standin’ still when I’m done talkin’ is going to have a taste of my axe too. I want this thing caged back up” she jerked her head towards the screeching berserker “ranks and camps reformed, a runner each to Goreblade’s and Asheater’s companies on our flanks, and a complete battle report from every legionnaire five minutes ago. You can celebrate when we take the capital. Get movin’!”

Her company scattered, either because they had something to do (they should) or to simply avoid her ire (a good idea as well). Karta tilted her head until her neck popped, turning to watch as the berserker was wrestled to immobility, still howling and snapping as he was dragged away. His crimson eyes locked with hers, and she could see the maddened, impotent fury within.

“I am not finished with you, b***h!” He roared, huge muscles straining futilely to free himself.

“But I’m finished with you,” Karta called over her shoulder as she turned to leave. His howl of rage followed her as she walked away. “Next time,” she said to the legionnaire still hovering at her shoulder, “don’t let them out.”

“And that’s the short of it,” Karta said, dabbing at the wound on Rekka’s face again. The girl was staring at her in complete adoration, and Karta chuckled. “Don’t forget to breathe, Rekks.”

Rekka just grinned up at her, and then her little arms went around Karta’s middle. Karta stroked her daughter’s head gently. “Hey. Wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“M’momma’s the best,” came the muffled response from around her waist, and Karta smiled.

“I do m’best,” she said softly, tightening her grip on her daughter. “I do m’best, Rekks.”

Karta sunk down to the ground, pulling Rekka into her lap. “Hey, girlie,” she said poking Rekka in the side, “I told you you’ve got a warrior’s name. I ever tell you where it came from?”

Rekka looked up at her. “No, momma.”

“Well, lemme tell you about your grandmomma. You thought I was th’best? Wait until ya hear this.” She winked, lacing her arms around Rekka. “Warlord’s higher than General. How's 'Warlord Rekka'nar' sound to you?”

[JVNemesis]

Karta could hear her breath more and more every day.

It rattled in her chest as she inhaled and caught in her throat as she exhaled. Her coughs were wet and painful, bringing blood to her mouth with each hack. She couldn’t hide the rasp in her voice any longer. Her muscles were thinning despite her efforts to preserve them, her skin wrinkling and growing loose as the dense muscles beneath waned. Rekka carried things for her now. Her little girl was not so little anymore; at seven years old, she nearly outweighed what was left of her mother. As Rekka grew, Karta withered. Her daughter needed the food more than she did, and Karta had never once begrudged her for it. She stroked the dirty mane of her daughter’s hair slowly as Rekka slumbered in her lap, head back on Karta’s chest.

Karta Bloodhowl, Warsong General, scion of Warlord Rekka’nar Foeslayer, last of the true Twilight’s Hammer, had been defeated by her own failing body. There was no fooling herself anymore, though she had suspected for a long time. She never recovered from illness, only worsened. The little things had begun to add up over the years. She had hoped to have time to recover, to raise her daughter properly after the camps…but there was no end in sight, eight years in.

The flames of hope were flickering fitfully, and Karta did not have the strength or belief to renew them.

She looked down at Rekka, the girl peacefully asleep in her arms, and stroked the matted mane of dark hair. There was no one else to take care of her. None of the other camp inhabitants were more than listless husks, dull-eyed and worthless. She would not leave Rekka to any of them. Her daughter was going to be on her own, and she was not prepared for it. She could not survive without her mother. Karta understood this as fact, not opinion; her daughter had been taken care of all her life. While Karta had done her best to educate and care for the girl without coddling her, she had been shielded from the worst of the camps. She was too young. She needed someone to watch her once Karta was gone, but who…

Karta looked up, and she knew. She knew who she had to speak to, to convince to finally step up and do what he needed to do. She had been patient with him so far, letting him take the time he needed as she focused on Rekka, but there was no more time for hesitation. Carefully, she lifted Rekka out of her lap, settling the girl back down beside her and standing, grimacing as her body protested. She looked down at her slumbering child, and she felt her heart clench.

He had to help. Had to agree.

There was no one else.

Karta leaned down, kissing Rekka’s forehead gently, then straightened up and began her limping stride, back still as straight as it had ever been.

He would agree. She knew it.

The flicker of hope flared brighter.

-


Her gaze was stony the next morning as the orcs clustered in the main assembly area, and she felt nothing but disgust for her kin. They shuffled, utterly disinterested in why they had been summoned here, assembling the usual lines without prompt from the guards. None of them so much as glanced out of line.

Karta hated them more than she had hated anything in her life.


Rekka hovered next to her, rubbing absently at the old scar on her cheek as she shot anxious glances up at her dangerously quiet mother. Karta did not look back as the other orcs filed in, a soft rumble reverberating through the crowd. She didn’t have anything to say to her daughter that could reassure her right at that moment.

“Hey, momma?” Rekka said, voice low as she leaned into Karta’s hip for a second, “what’s goin’ on?”

“Hush up and watch,” Karta told her curtly, dropping her hand on Rekka’s shoulder with a bit more force than was perhaps necessary.

Rekka fell silent immediately, shoulders hunching, and Karta felt faintly guilty. It was not Rekka's fault, this...mess. She squeezed her daughter's shoulder. “Camp transfers, probably,” she said gruffly after a moment, relenting. “It's about that time again.”

While the shuttling of orcs between camps, for one reason or another, did not happen often, about once a year or so, it had been quite some time since the last one. The humans were not so terrible as to separate families who had miraculously reunited or formed in the camps if it could be avoided, unless there was a problem, but Karta always kept a wary eye on Kalen around these times. She would not put it past him to try and take Rekka from her, as much as he used her daughter as leverage to keep her from snapping his frail neck.

“Why you mad, momma?”

“Why are you mad,” Karta corrected absently. “I'm not mad, girlie. Now shh, and watch.”

Rekka fell silent again, obedient as ever, and Karta ruffled her hair affectionately as one of the human wardens stepped forward. Karta didn't recognize him.

“We have a caravan moving south today,” he said, sounding a good deal less bored and contemptuous than the humans usually did when addressing their cattle, “those of you who have been informed previously that you are scheduled to be transferred will be leaving now. Step forward and check in.”

A good number of orcs shuffled forward towards a line of seated humans, paperwork ready at the desks.

Humans and their prison systems.

Karta scanned through the departing orcs carefully as they filed out of the assembly area. She didn't recognize any of them well enough to care about their departures.

Once there was no one else moving forward, the warden spoke again. “I will also be extending a rare offer; the internment center we are going to suffered a...decrease, in population, abruptly.”

To his credit, he didn't look smug or overly pleased about it. Karta respected his composure, if nothing else.

“As such, I will be allowing five of you to come along, unscheduled, if you wish to accompany anyone who is leaving now. It is a good deal warmer south of here, where we are going.”

Two of the seated humans turned actually turned around and stared at the warden in something akin to shock or surprise, until his eyes found them and they turned forward again.

Karta frowned. This was strange. Doing something nice for their inmates? Offering to take them somewhere warmer or be with their friends or family?

Very strange indeed. This, however, was a chance for them to get away from Kalen for good. If it wasn't a trick, and Karta was not entirely sure that it wasn't. The reaction of the humans at the desks made it clear this was a surprise to them as well.

“If you wish to do so, step forward now.”

Karta firmed her grip on Rekka's shoulder and did not move. Her daughter looked up, an excited light in her eyes. “Whatta'bout it, momma? Goin' somewhere else? Somewhere-”

“Somewhere just like this, Rekka,” Karta interrupted. “It'll be no different.”

She watched as two orcs moved forward, then another, and another, and their window was gone. Rekka's eyes lowered, and Karta knew her daughter was bitterly disappointed. A chance to see something besides this damned camp, for once in her life...and Karta had not allowed her to take it.

Some day, perhaps. Some day, she could make it up to the girl.

Karta's breath hitched, and she stifled a cough. She felt something wet and coppery welling in her mouth.

And maybe she couldn't.

Karta looked up as the last orc approached the human line, and she felt her blood run cold.

She had known he hadn't handled their conversation, her request, her demand, last night well. They had both been angry, said things they maybe hadn't meant. He would come around, eventually. She knew he would. He had to. There wasn't anyone else, he had to do it.

She didn't feel angry as he spoke to the human at the desk; she felt numb and lost.

She didn't know what to do now. Without him accepting what she, they, needed him to do, Rekka was going to grow up alone.

But he didn't accept it. He really wanted nothing to do with either of them.

So he was leaving.

“You coward,” she whispered, as Voragh Angermaw walked out of the camp and his daughter's life without a backward look.

“Momma? What's wrong?” Rekka tugged at her arm, concern shining in her wide, innocent eyes, and Karta didn't know what to tell her. She couldn't keep her promises.

She turned without a word, guiding a confused and nervous Rekka away from the assembly, eyes passing briefly, disinterestedly, over a new structure being erected, some kind of ring, to where...

She didn't know.

She didn't know if it even mattered.

The ashes of hope tasted bitter in her mouth.

[JVNemesis]

Legacy

It was going to rain soon.

Clouds were gathering as the sun faded, and the wind had picked up slightly. A few knots, if that, but Karta’s senses had not diminished enough to miss it. Not yet, anyway. There was little enough left of the general that had once cowed enemies with nothing more than her warcry as it was, but Karta had little doubt that she had worse to come. Her condition continued to deteriorate as time wore on, and there was nothing the humans could (or would) do. Perhaps a shamn, or even a medicine man, but there were none among the orcs in the camp, and the humans’ ‘doctor’ had always refused to see her, citing there was nothing he could do for the ‘aliens.’ Karta always saw Kalen’s satisfied smile as she limped back, and she could not even muster her justified fury anymore.

She couldn’t muster much of anything anymore.

Karta was dying by inches, and she was terribly aware of it. Her slow demise wasn’t a matter of if, anymore, it was a matter of ‘when’, and in her blackest moments, Karta wished she had died on the field of the Lordaeronian capital. A worthy, honorable death in combat, falling without taking a single step back, rather than tasting the bitter tang of defeat all these years, gritting her teeth and suppressing her rage at the humans' abuse.

But these feelings always faded when she stroked her daughter's hair, or saw her smile, cheerful despite the circumstances she suffered through. She would not give Rekka up for anything, no matter the cost to herself.

Karta looked over the camp at the huddled orcs, most still asleep at this (somewhat) early hour of the morning. She still didn't know what to do with Rekka. With Voragh gone, there was no one she could trust to care for her daughter. She had been going harder on the girl since her father's departure; Karta had never coddled her, couldn't coddle her here, but the intensity of her instruction had certainly stepped up. She was going to have to survive on her own, as much as it broke Karta's heart.

Rekka was strong. She would make it. The daughter of General Bloodhowl, daughter of Warlord Foeslayer, would not perish in some filthy human prison. She had a greater destiny.

The rain began to fall, fat, wet droplets that splashed down from the darkening sky. Rekka was due back soon. She wouldn't stay away long once it grew dark.

“General Bloodhowl.”

Karta started, looking sideways at the orc that had approached, so silently she had not known he was there before he spoke. Even with her skills and awareness as depreciated as they were, to be able to sneak up on her was no easy feat, and set warning bells off in Karta's mind.

He was an unassuming fellow: his short hair was pulled back, his face was beginning to develop the craggy lines of age, and his nose was long and narrow. He was slender of build, as they all were, but his was less the slim of malnutrition and more the slim of a honed and athletic body, with a lithe, coiled readiness, even after all this time in the camps, that set Karta on edge. She didn't recognize him. He had one of those faces her eyes seemed to slide right off, except for a small white scar at the corner of his right eye. She knew the faces of nearly all of the soldiers that had been under her command, and his was not among them. But still he called her General.

“Who are you?” She demanded, back straightening unconsciously as she stared at him, expression hard.

His lips curved in a small smirk, and she did not like that expression one bit. “I served in your company, General.”

“Soldiers never seem so loyal when they lose, do they, General Bloodhowl?”

She scowled, banishing the unwelcome thought. “…Sorry,” she said after a moment, and her tone was harsh and grating, even to her ears. “Didn’t recognize ya.”

“I know,” the orc replied, tone light, almost amicable. “That was, after all, the point.” He watched her wrestle with that for a moment, and his faint grin widened nastily. He was enjoying her confusion, she could tell. “Twilight’s Hammer sends its regards to its wayward…daughters.”

Karta felt her blood freeze and, for the second time that week, she was paralyzed, indecision, something she would not call terror, clogging her heart.

They had found her after all, even after all this time. Her mother’s legacy, her curse, had finally caught up.

Karta stared at the orc, tongue thick and swollen, and she swallowed, hard. “Brave of you, to announce yerself so openly,” she growled, tone unwavering. Her body shifted slowly, withered muscles trying and failing to tense, to prepare for combat.

The orc didn’t look fazed at all. “Here? Now? I have nothing to fear from you, scion of Foeslayer.” He paused, and his eyelids drifted closed as he inhaled slowly, as if savoring the moment with a shudder of pleasure that sent a twinge of a different kind of fear through her. “I want you to watch. I’ve waited a very long time for this, Bloodhowl, and now…you are alone.”

“I wouldn't trust anythin' o' mine with any o' these bastards neither."

“I got yer back on this one."

Karta felt cold. Her blood wasn’t flowing, her brain was sluggish. Where was the fierce general, the bloodhowler who led from the front, had the respect of her soldiers, her peers, her superiors? “Watch what?” She croaked.

“Watch your traitorous line end. You…and your daughter.” He inspected her for a moment, and then his lip curled in a faint sneer. “Fitting, that your demise is as dishonorable as your mother’s before you.”

Karta bared her teeth in a snarl, but her mind was still frozen, and one thought was running through her mind:

Where was Rekka?

She stared back at the arrogant assassin, and never had she felt so helpless, so hateful, and so afraid. “Leave my daughter outta this,” she snarled, forcing a display of strength and raised hackles that she did not feel. “She knows nothin’ about any of this.”

“Then, maybe I’ll take her back with me,” the assassin said, his lips quirking back up into a mean smile, “when we’re finally out of these pens.”

What was left of Karta’s muscles tensed, coiling, preparing to strike. She would lose, but Rekka would not be taken from her without this Twilight bastard stepping over her corpse.

The meeting bell rang, its peal clear in the drizzle, and Karta noticed out of the corner of her eye the flicker of torches spring up around the newly-erected ring, the purpose of which was all too clear.

“That bell tolls for you, scion of Foeslayer,” the orc murmured, stepping back as the rest of the orcs began to funnel towards the ring. “Say your farewells…Well. It’s just one farewell now, isn’t it? Regardless…if either of you have time.” And with that, the Twilight agent stepped back, momentarily obscured by a passing orc, and was gone.

Karta’s eyes darted back and forth in the growing crowd, but the white scar did not resurface no matter how her eyes searched. He’d gone as abruptly as he’d come, and the only evidence of his existence was the dread and terror in her heart.

She had to find Rekka, and then she had to find a shiv, and then she had to find him before he decided to act. Why he had not simply killed her right then, she didn’t know. It was a tactical mistake, making her aware of his presence, an amateur’s error, and Karta would make him pay for it. He could have killed her there, more than likely, but she had a chance now.

She had to find Rekka. She hadn’t come back yet, so she must’ve diverted to go to whatever this meeting was, assuming she’d find her mother there. Karta snarled under her breath and forced herself to start moving, body burning from the pumping of adrenaline she hadn’t felt in years.

They were meeting in the ring. It was a crude, ugly thing of splintered, uneven wood and hard, angular seats. A pit of churned black dirt maybe twenty feet across made up the center of the ring, the purpose of which was all too clear. It turned Karta’s stomach at the best of times, but she didn’t even consider it now as she scanned the clustered orcs, searching desperately for the only one left that she cared about.

Rekka’s face did not surface.

"This ain't no place to try raising a child."

You were right.

“Hurry up, you swine! Sit down and shut up.”

Karta’s head snapped around as the other orcs quieted and Kalen’s voice rang out across the sudden hush. She saw him then, the only one she had ever regretted not killing, as he stepped into sight, moving into the ring. Other guards were moving as well, shifting into position behind the crowd of orcs. A few looked wary and uneasy, but Karta had eyes only for the tiny, terrified form quaking in front of Kalen, his hand clamped around the back of her neck.

With an eerie, electric surge, Karta knew that, one way or the other, this would end today.

“Got a real treat for you today, you ungrateful savages,” Kalen called as he shoved Rekka roughly forward. He wiped his hand on his trousers immediately after, his disgust clear. “I’m sure even you halfwits can figure out what happens in a ring like this. You had lots of these, right? Seems like something you filthy beasts would do.” He grinned out at the silent crowd. “I picked the first contender already.” He pointed at Rekka, who stood, shoulders hunched in terrified confusion, in the center of the ring. “Who’s goin agains-“

“No.”

Kalen swung around, face contorting with fury at the simple, flat interruption as Karta stepped forward. “Get back in line and watch, b***h,” he snarled, “unless you want to be the first to smash your brat’s face.”

“You’re not doin’ this,” Karta growled, stalking closer, “not to my daughter.” Rekka’s eyes locked onto her mother’s face, hope blossoming on her face.

It vanished a moment later as Kalen dealt her a furious blow with the whip he unfurled with a vicious flick, sending the girl sprawling with a cry of pain.

Karta charged, her atrophied muscles screaming in protest, but she ignored them.

There was no turning back now.

Kalen turned the whip on her, but she didn’t even register the impact, so focused was she upon her goal.

Two more steps, and then her fingers closed around Kalen’s throat. There was a flicker of fear in his eyes, and then she began to squeeze. Kalen reached up, hands scrabbling at hers before he seized her wrists…

…and began to peel her hands off.

Karta snarled with impotent fury as her grip was slowly broken, all of her muscles, her strength, her resolve, all meaningless against the weight of years of stagnation. She strained, digging her nails into the pink, weak, frail flesh beneath, but it was not enough.

Kalen broke her grip at last and shoved her violently, sending Karta into an awkward stagger before she dropped to a knee, all strength spent. A boot caught her in the side, throwing her the rest of the way to the ground. Another furious kick, and she curled as she felt a rib splinter. Karta could hear a commotion above, and Kalen snarling something, but it was muted, distant, as if coming from too far away.

The whip fell on her again, and she jerked with the impact, but there was no pain, and she craned her head to look at Rekka, because that was what was important, not the lashing, not anything else, and she saw her daughter, and she saw the horror and fear on the girl’s face, mouth open in a scream, but the words or sound or both were lost to her

"Safe. Healthy. Happy as . . . she can be."

Would she be?

The whip fell again, but Karta could only feel the rain as Rekka tumbled from another blow, one she did not rise from, only turned her head, to watch, and Karta could feel a vague sense of her own fear, a distant tremor, a why, why did they all just watch, and as her head rolled under another thunderous impact, she saw the white scar, and the curling smile victory, vengeance, both or neither for him, but all the others, they all stood there, indecisive, immobile, uncaring, unable.

“I got yer back on this one."

He didn’t.

No one stepped forward as another blow fell

Rekka.

Rekka.

"I'll do what I can. I'll . . . try."

But she had no one.

But she had to make it.

Rekka.

She would make it.

I love you. I believe in you.


The whip fell again, but all Karta could feel

was the rain.