Drakash Firemane - The Story told to us by Drakash Firemane.

[Drakash]

Drakash glances at the starlit sky over Durotar before turning his attention to the campfire and the orcs around him.

My name is Drakash. No one knows where I was born, not even me, but most likely on the Camps. I don't have parents or other relatives I know of. I saw the bodies of my probable parents, they wore the colours of Frostwolves, like one kind orc told me. As a young cub I lived in one of the internment camps, most probably near Durnholde from what I've heard. I can tell you it wasn't a pleasant place to grow up. I was raised to see our proud orcish race as lethargic slaves. I was one of them as well until Thrall came for us, but that will be told later.

The earliest memories I have consist of stealing food and trying to find shelter from the constant rain. It didn't take long for me to recognize different type of orcs. The ones that had thrown away their hopes were the easiest target, since they cared of nothing that happened around them. Majority of the orcs were like that. Sitting and staring at nothing with dull eyes. Then there were drifters like me, who exploited the weak. I  wasn't one of the worst. I just tried to survive.

Drakash looks up from the campfire and peers at the visages of the orcs gathered around him. He slowly shakes his heads and resumes his story.

None of us here want to hear about the Camps, I reckon, but I was made there. A lot of what is me is based on the lessons of the Camps. I don't want to forget what it was like. It taught me to survive, to hide my feelings and it also taught me to see things differently. The memories of those times are the power that drives me onwards. Not all of  them were bad, tho. For example, laughter was a rare treat, but when someone laughed, it was genuine and many of the orcs who had forgotten who they were came back for a short moment. When I heard it for the first time, I made a promise to laugh as much as I could if I ever got out.

Straightens his posture and grins absent-mindedly.

And I did. I was but a little boy when Thrall came to set us free. All I can remember of the actual fight was the screams and battle cries. They set my heart ablaze. When the gates opened I was one of the first to run out to meet our saviours. All around me were Orcs, real orcs. Their ardent eyes were alive and they carried themselves upright and with honour. Then suddenly one of them caught my eye. He was young and clad in black armour and every other orc seemed to show him great respect.  From that moment, I knew my life was to change drastically. I ran to him and fell on my knees and pledged my life to him. When I dared to look up, he was smiling at me and  reaching down to pick me up on my feet. "Your life is your own now, Firemane", he said before winking at me, patting me on my shoulder and turning his attention to the other  orcs around him. I just stood there dumb-struck, thinking of what he had just told me.  Later I heard him speak much more, but that's the most important thing I've ever heard.

Drakash falls silent for a moment, like gathering his thoughts.

I followed Thrall to Kalimdor. My life was mine and I decided to use it to help the man who had saved me. I met many orcs who thought the same way. The elder orcs taught me to fight and swear. After, before and between the many battles we fought on Kalimdor, someone always had time for 'little Firemane'. Firemane was the name Thrall had given me when I first saw him, later he explained that it was because of my fiery orange hair.  Much later the name that the Farseer had given me caught another meaning as well.

Drakash tugs gently at his fiery orange beard.

It was when we landed on Kalimdor that I met the second most important man in my life.  His name was Thrommash Blackeye and he was a shaman. He too was one of the Frostwolves  and had followed Thrall from their lands in Alterac. He took me as his pupil since, according to him, he saw great potential in me. I think he was just a bit lonely and as he did not have own children to teach the secrets of shamanism, he took me as a  substitute. I didn't mind and in many ways he acted like a father to me. He was a healer of the army, although the first time I saw him fight I didn't believe my eyes. First he told me all about natural cures and the characteristics of plants and flowers. He was always so astonished that Kalimdor had mostly the same flora as Eastern Kingdoms. Then he slowly started to lecture about spirits and shamanism in general. We had a thousand conversations about the nature of the spirits and he always allowed me to watch him perform his rituals.

Again, silence reigns for a few moments, broken only by the slow crackling of the campfire. Someone adds some more food for the hungry flames.

Eventually he started to teach me how to fight properly. I had learned the basics from the orc grunts, but the skill to use an axe wasn't the only thing essential in fighting. He taught me of the balance of mind and spirits and in the end he took me with him to heal the injured on the field of battle. It was in Stonetalon Mountains when the spirits answered my call for the first time. I'll never forget the feeling and the look in Throm's eyes.  After that, the spirits haven't failed me once. After the desperate fight on Mount Hyjal I was somewhat respected among the orcs I travelled with.

I helped Thrall building Orgrimmar as well as I could. Soon after proclaiming Durotar for the orcs, my mentor and father-figure died of old age. Before venturing to the Great Plains, like he used to say, he made me vow to visit the Frostwolves one year later from the moment he died. I couldn't get a ship to the Eastern Kingdoms because of Admiral Proudmoore, so I had to postpone my plans. Finally, as a young adult, I left Durotar to find my own path. At that time, there wasn't much Horde activity in the human lands, so I had to sneak my way, unevently, to Alterac Mountains, where the Frostwolves were supposed to hold their court. When I finally got there, I was close to starving and dying of cold.  They took me in and I told them my story and my wish to become a real shaman. They trialed and taught me there for four years before I was ready for the true initation to shamanism.

It was then I heard that the Dark Portal had been opened and that the Horde was looking for more able-bodied and -minded warriors. I didn't feel or think I belonged to the Frostwolves and so I set out. The last night I was there, the elder shamans told me the true reason Thrall had perhaps givien me my name. The spirits of fire were rather favourable towards me, or so they said. The next morning I left the Frostwolf Keep and started the way back to Orgrimmar. It was a lot easier this time, since the Horde activity had increased dramatically. When I got to Orgrimmar, they sent me to the  Den to prove my worth. From there I slowly ascended in the ranks and fame and I was finally let to Outland, our ancestor home I had only heard stories about.

Drakash sighs slowly, letting his head droop before lifting his head up and looking at the orcs around him, grinning.

During these times I found the Orcs of the Red Blade. They took me in, I made my oath for the Matriarch and now I hope I have finally found a home for me.

He grunts his last words before falling silent.

For the Spirits, for the Ancestors, for the Horde.

[Kozgugore]

(( Very interesting to read and well in tune with the lore as well! Nice one. ))

[Greggar]

(( a very pleasant read indeed Also explains why you use alot of fire spirits or the elemental fire itself. ^^ ))

[Drakash]

(( Haiops! ))