[Story] Penance

[Okiba]

”Doubt is like a snake, once it wraps it coils about you, you can only suffocate.”

Penance: chapter 1 â€" Doubt

The streets had changed. The smell had altered. The noises were different. Orgrimmar had finally left the depression of the siege, or so it seemed. Peace had brought harmony, and along with it the regularity the valleys had once known. Beggars did not litter ‘every’ street and the air of lethargy and nervous anticipation among the populace had gone. All in all, it was a favourable thing.

And to think but a year ago these streets ran red with blood.

Devilstep mused, as he began his walk along the Drag. Behind him the sun had near set over the valley of wisdom. The Tauren tents disappeared as the curve of the drag brought the traders shops into sight. During the siege this part of the city was a mess of barricades, debris and carnage. Body’s had been left to rot as both, nay, all three sides had no time or opportunity to collect the dead thanks to the brutal urban warfare. The smell of death and decay had been washed away, but the memories had not. Passers-by had given firm nods, while small groups huddled and laughed outside of taverns. Merriment and contentment, this was unexpected.

Why does everyone seem to have forgotten it all so easily?

The thought had struck him as he entered the city and lingered in the back of his mind since. How could they all have moved on, forgetting so readily and yet he still trudged through it like a minefield. Perhaps they all simply put on brave faces, going about their business with worry and despair buried deep. Perhaps it really was all a facade, and like him they all lived in doubt.

But we must not. I must not. You have made your choices, during the siege and in the dark... live with them.

What other choice was there? He continued his walk at a leisurely pace, his thick woollen cowl covering his face. Though his vision was not impaired it was at least ensured that those who may hold a grudge or some disdain would not know who he was. His grey robes and bare feet marked him out as nothing in particular, hardly a grand disguise but worked for its simplicity. The lack of a sword at his side felt odd though. But he’d not need armament where he was going.

Pay heed to the task. Perhaps it won’t change your mind or how you feel about it all, but it is what the others asked for.

Though Wolfheart had seemed unsure of her choice of task at first, Duskstalker did not. They had both arrived at the same conclusion perhaps, though likely for very different reasons. His punishment had been his disgrace, again, and his redemption it seemed had been set down on a road he had little option but to walk. This task he could of argued against, or debated but in the end he already knew he’d feel no different at its completion, or more likely it would only jar memories from that dark place he did not want to visit in his head.

Their attempts at forcing remorse are short sighted and likely only to lead to despair... or anguish.

He would not doubt what he did. To doubt his choice was to cast himself back into the void, spirits only know how many more would have died...

He grumbled, lifting his gaze. At last his destination had come into view. The run down walls and damaged roof did much to hide the importance of the place, the merry laughter that echoed from inside that doorway made it homely. Though the impatient frown of a pacing matron indicated he was late, rather than what he anticipated to be early. Taking care of dozens of orphans had a timetable it seemed...

Spirits give me strength...

[Okiba]

”Not every mask is a disguise. Sometimes they are a desperate gesture to hide us from the truth of the world, or it from us.”

Penance: chapter 2 â€" Mask

Mesh’ka huffed. She was not accustomed to lateness. You couldn’t be with so many younglings depending on you. Things had to go as they were intended and her furrowing brow indicated clearly things had begun to go awry. Inside the children could be heard singing along with the junior matron, giggling and laughing.

At this rate they will be awake long past when they are meant to be asleep!

The senior matron had told her to pay this visitor some respect and lenience, certainly. In excess if she caught her tone right. But she also said to be on guard, she was very specific about that.

”Don’t let him out your sight or leave him alone with them, you hear?” She had said once, twice, nay three times. Was she afraid of something? If so then why would she want him there to begin with...

Pfah! Mysteries are for others to solve. She had younglings to care for. That’s what mattered

“Ahem...”

She jumped, brought out of her own thoughts by the firm conformation of a newcomer’s presence. The figure of a wool robed Orc with a raised cowl stood before her. She could just make out two green eyes below that hood, and the shape of a grey bearded square jaw, and little more.

About dam time...

”you be late... but you are here, are you ready?” She more or less barked, as if speaking to one of the more troublesome boys. Firmness is what the senior matron said you need to have, firmness with a strong guiding hand.

”I am. Anything I should know before we begin?” He asked coolly, his head straightening up to get a good look at her. Mesh’ka could just make out the silhouette of his face as he raised his hands to allow a full view of his face.

”Hrm, just don’t let the one in the green pants sneeze on you, you’ll get sick.” she answered, her eyes passing over his features. A fine patchwork of old and new scars patterned his shaved head and neck, he’d seen battle, or hardship. Those steely green eyes certainly showed it.

I wonder why...

”and don’t keep them up too late, they need sleep.” She finished.

”I’ll be mindful of the time.” He answered, raising his left hand and rubbing his jaw. With a crack of his neck and the roll of his shoulders he seemed to shrink as if by some trick or actors play. With a grunt and a cough, he turned and walked through the door...

Now what is this one playing at?

”Children!  Come! Sit! Gather around old Nog’ork! This old pilgrim has stories of old! Come, come! Yes, yes...” he spoke out loud, now wispier and so different from the voice he had first used. She turned and entered the orphanage herself, watching as the Orc sat himself in a chair with what she guessed was feigned exhaustion, picking up the youngest Orcling boy he could find and planting him on his knee.

”Hrmm! You are heavy! You will grow to be a great warrior, yes, yes! Nog’ork knows this... would you like to hear a story of a little-big warrior?” The ‘elder’ smiled, the child’s eyes grew wide with interest as others gathered around, sitting on furs in a half circle all about this stranger.

”Yes!” came the answer, eager and full of glee.

This should be interesting. Though as matron said, watch him...

”Good! Then Nog’ork will tell you of little Kraang! That is a fine, fine story... mhrm...Long ago...”

[Rashka]

Keep 'em comin'! *Takes out popcorn and Krogon fan-hat.*

[Okiba]

”Time lays waste to all things, even friendship.”

Penance: Chapter 3 - Stranger

The senior matron quirked a brow, accepting the envelope with slow scepticism. With long slender fingers and nails like knives she broke the seal, removed the letter and began to read.

The younger two at least didn’t glare for glaring sake.

Krogon glanced left and right before raising his woollen hood, The drag was quiet this morning, the sun had not yet ascended above the valley walls and the children still slept peacefully within the orphanage. It had been an interesting four days, telling stories of old and tales of legend to the children had been oddly relaxing, though...

Yet still that hollow weight sits on my heart...

The matron scanned the lines of the parchment and its official symbols with no small degree or contempt. No doubt she held disdain for such things.

She huffed. ”is that all? I had expected a larger donation-“

”That is merely the first, of many equal monthly donations to come.” He cut in, before she had chance to affirm an idea he was cheap. When her brows rose in surprise and realisation he knew he’d estimated the amount right.

Those in need don’t want gifts or hand outs, what they need is dependable stability.

”this is most kind... very well, and you still intend to visit in future when you are in the city?” She smiled wryly, her dark purple eyes had a mischievous twinkle to them. Though she was old, and greying, the elder matron had a youthful guile to her he had learnt to be weary of.

She thinks this was a one off affair and doubts my word. Typical.

”On my honour, for whatever you rate that to be worth.” he answered firmly, slipping his hands into the opposing sleeves of his robes with a subtle frown on his features.

”Hrm, if you say so then. Safe travels back to your tribe. Gug’ye...” and with that, she turned and re-entered the orphanage without another word, forgetting him as quickly as she had learned who he was.

Devilstep grumbled, turning on his heels and heading back north up the drag at a patient pace. There was no rush, nobody would miss him, perhaps the children would when they awoke and found their new story-teller gone, but that could not be helped.

A strange turn of events indeed...

His eyes scanned the long curve of the street ahead. The occasional ‘female of the night’ loitered here and there, beginning to head to wherever home was while the nights revellers were being peeled off the road by the new Tauren and Troll guards. Drink in excess had its downside as ever.

Eventually he came to pass the Runeworks shop on his left, and no sooner had he entered the shadow of the building did he feel a twinge of suspicion in his gut. The prayer beads concealed around his left arm, even under all these robes knew something was off, or worth the trouble to pause and think. The spiritual orbs didn’t speak to him, but when that unsaid word reached his brain he knew to stop in his tracks.

What now...?

Looking down at his bare feet, he stood at the edge of the buildings shadow now, his own poking out from the larger black veil. Then it moved, and stood upright. Another shadow, someone is watching you. His gaze snapped left and darted upward toward the higher path above the shops.

Well I’ll be fel dammed...

”Ha! Render! I knew it was you! Even under all those robes and without your blade I can spot your skulking hide a mile off!” The muscled Orc laughed then spat, promptly taking a deep swig of a large skin thereafter.

...Koroto...

The Orc leapt with considerable ease, falling that lengthy drop but landing on both feet, granted it was with the wobble of some alcohol induced uncertainty but he landed upright.

”I’m amazed you showed your hide here! Pfah!” Barked Koroto, his long black beard and hair braid swayed as his armour and war blade jangled about his body.

...Grand, my least favourite friend and he’s  isn’t happy to see me...

[Okiba]

”Mourn, do not grieve, only mourn.”

Penance: Chapter 4 - Mourning

The walk up had been bland and uneventful. Unless you count listening to a Blademaster throw out whiskey induced belches and snarled insults to everyone and everything.

”And these Darkspear! Clueless! Can’t even run a grain exchange...  UURRp! â€"let alone a city... Pfah!” barked Koroto, leading the way up the spiral of steps.

He’s certainly not changed...

The pair wound their way up the steps of the road little by little. The paths above Orgrimmar were seldom walked, and few really knew of or had use for them these days. The Blademaster’s had once made good use of them however, and Koroto even claimed to have made his home atop this path, high above Durotar and the ‘stench’ of the city as he put it.

...not one bit.

”Here we are! Make yourself at home, Render.” Koroto waved over his shoulder as they turned and came to a small ravine. It was a dead end, had overhanging cliff edges and someone had even made a makeshift fur pile to sleep on. And left a dozen empty whiskey bottles all around...

spent his time wisely...

Koroto lumbered along to his fur pile, turned and planted his behind upon it with his back to the wall. With a long deep swig of whiskey he watched as Devilstep sat neatly on a small boulder opposite.

”So! Word on the street is you’ve been bad, again! Pfah! You attract trouble like a lamp draws moths! Pfah!” Koroto chuckled, gulping from his whiskey again.

’the street’, dependable. Probably got told by Ronakada...

He didn’t reply, simply grunted and looked about his surroundings. The sun had crept over the peaks now and even reached here, though it was a muddle of cool shadows.

Koroto snorted, seems he did not approve. Placing his left hand on the hilt of his huge war blade and planting aside his drinking jug he growled.

”What gives you the right to do crap like that eh? What makes you think you can just spit out judgements and go on as if nothing happened, eh!? Don’t ignore me render...” His lip was upturned, snarling with what he assumed was disgust.

...Should have brought the sword. But he’s is drunk...

”What’s the alternative? Turn into a depressed drunk hiding in the hills? What gave you the right to do what you did, hrm?” snapped Devilstep in return, his green eyes locking with the Koroto’s. He instantly regretted that rebuke.

Too close to the bone...

”How Dare you! How dare you dishonour me and my son!” Koroto leapt to his feet, with minor delay. His sword was slowly drawn...

...The Blademaster who had to kill his son, the son who sided with Hellscream...

”Koroto... put the sword down... I’m not going to fight you...” He spoke, firm but not threatening, but he knew it was too late to try and subdue him with words now.

”Don’t try to wriggle your way out of this one! Always with your tricks and your dammed tongue! Thanks to you my boy is dead!” Barked Koroto. He started to approach, slowly but with intent.

Really put your foot in it...

Devilstep stood, slowly, calmly. And began to circle in the opposite direction around the boulder he had sat on... keeping his once friend and now likely enemy a good distance from him.

”We all had a choice to make... you know this. You think I don’t regret organizing the northern Rebellion? I have blood on my hands! It was more than just your boy Koroto!” He snapped, he tone was ruthless now, taking no prisoners, he was resolute in his choice.

”Blood... blood!? What do you know of blood, sitting behind your chieftain, pulling strings!? I had to kill my own son! How can you speak of blood!?” He roared, his lungs emptying with fury... but he didn’t charge. Instead, he fell to his knee’s... and wept.

Spirits give me strength...

Krogon stopped and lowered his cowl. All he felt was pity now, not hostility. His friend had lost something dear to him, the son he had trained himself from a pup, and now he had surrendered completely to despair...

And so he stood there, powerless to help, listening to a warrior weep...

[Okiba]

”Sons should bury their fathers, not fathers bury their sons.”

Penance: Chapter 5 - Remorse

Koroto had wept for of an hour, blubbing. But Devilstep did not look down on him for it, he remembered himself how raw and painful it felt to mourn for his own mate Bor’la. The loss of a much loved child could only feel worse, hurting much deeper.

What can you do?

He had returned to his original place, sitting on that small boulder opposite the other Blademaster. Koroto sat hunched forward on his furs. They had not spoken a word since he had lost control of his grieving emotions, and Devilstep was quite content with the silence.

”How do you do it? Came that hoarse voice at last, his brown eyes fixing a gaze upon him. Blood shot and tired, he was exhausted, mentally and spiritually. Devilstep could only look at him quizzically in response.

How?

”How do you keep going after all you’ve seen? All you’ve had to do?” pushed Koroto, making sure he was clear on what he was asking.

How does anyone...

”I don’t know... old friend... I...” He paused, collecting his thoughts before he continued. ”...I remember what I fight for, what I’m working toward. And that by doing it, others, many others, don’t suffer in my place... that is what keeps me going...” He finished, knowing it to be true, but he felt a pang of uncertainty all the same.

Even after the spirit of my beloved spoke to me, that twang of uncertain fear lingers... in the background.

Koroto wiped his large hand across his face, his eyes moving left and right as if deep with thought. It was only now that Devilstep realised that he wasn’t alone in his uncertainty, there are others who have fallen to the same depths in the name of something greater... and not come away unscathed.

...The world is cruel.

”Does it get easier?” Koroto spoke again, hushed but pressing for more.

Never...

”I had hoped, but it doesn’t. Like scars cutting deep on the soul, whiskey won’t help either...” He answered, flatly and with as little emotion as he could. He wasn’t used to sharing his thoughts like this.

Koroto snorted, a stifled laugh of contempt to the idea. He had always liked his drink, only natural he would seek solace at the bottom of a mug.

”What can we do then, eh Render? What can we do?” came the question with a hint of humour, but those pleading eyes begged for illumination.

Only one thing...

”The same we always have, Koroto, we press on and weather the worst...”

[Gashuk]

I was just getting into that! You can't leave it there 

[Okiba]

We'll see gashuk, we'll see.