Orcs of the Red Blade

Hunched over his book, Stormgaze writes with a frantic, quick hand. His pen scratching the paper rapidly as if trying to catch something before it floats away.

Durotar, the hot sun beats down upon me. I tend the land, my plough carving tracts into the garden of my home.

She plays, I watch. We both watch. She is beautiful, she is young.

"Father! Look!" she speaks, her hands lifting up something shining from the dirt. A rusty dagger, yet she is proud. I smile, my hand patting her cheek as my wife laughs.

Time shifts, I fall. Seasons stretch and brush past. She stands before me, a woman. Strong, beautiful, her mothers eyes. She wears armor, she is going. I feel sadness, her hand brushes my face. My Daughter loves me. She leaves with the others.

I fall again, my beard longer. Grey. A letter is in my hands. I mourn, my heart broken. She is angry, she leaves me. It is my fault. I allowed this.

I am alone. No one visits, no one cares. I exist, I do not live.

I suddenly see her. A dead face, empty eyes. She calls to me. She asks why. I cannot reply. Her hand raises, her touch on my face. Skin like leather, flesh stinking. Her fingers grip. Anger.

I choke. I die.