Winds of Change

[Mozrogg]

The orc inhaled deep, the lush rolling hills of Nagrand replaced with the dust of Durotar, he kneeled for but a moment, removing his metal-clad gauntlet and taking a handful of sand, he rolled the grains between his cumbersome fingertips and breathed a sigh of relief, his cracked lips curling into a grin that revealed a set of vicious teeth. Clambering to his feet with a grunt, he then proceeded in brushing off the red that stained his knees.

Didn't think I'd be seeing this anytime soon.. He thought to himself, grunting as he plucked a hair from his beard, frowning as it was no longer a thick black, but a wispy pale white.

The orc whistled as a worg trotted beside him, feral in visage, the beast rubbed his mangy snout against the scarred and burnt skin of the orcs' hand and it was at this moment that the brute produced a ragged and battered looking wolf mask from his pack, pulling it over his grizzled face with only his ocean blue eye to capture any attention from the otherwise grim features.

He scratched the muzzle of his mask as flakes of dried blood drifted to the floor and with a yawn he began trudging the dusty and unkempt roads east, he had heard the rumours but could not believe them before witnessing with his own eyes. His journey had been long and his home no longer belonged to the Horde he once loved. Begrudgingly he began to trudge through the flood-plains, taking in every sight, smell and sound until a shadow had overcome him, peering up he witnessed the zepplin that brought him back returning back on one of it's many routes across the Great sea.

His feet were blistered and his boots were wet, he continued trudging along until boot made contact with dry land once again, the Barrens were all that stood beyond now, and from there on north, for if the rumours were true.. But then there was no word to him and yet he expected none. The razor winds kicked up, he pulled his cloak up and above his eyes to protect himself from the flesh-biting winds as he licked his broken fang.