Ruin

[Morgeth]

~"And stop damn well testing me! Be he me own son to begin with?!"
Kozgugore took two steps closer towards the female orc, who positioned herself in between him and the bed where another orc - a child - was sleeping. Her eyes betrayed her rage, and her hands were balled into fists, mimicing those of the larger orc in front of her.
"Y'question' m'honour, I see tha' now. D'you even t'ink I 'ave any t'begin wit'?"
Their voices filled the inn of Hammerfall. Outside the rain poured down, attempting to wash away bad memories of old. Those of war and malice. But their anger remained.
"This be not a damned test! -Don't- avoid the damned subject! IS HE?!"

"...O' course 'e damned well -is-, y'fool!"~



The highlands were oddly quiet; a few lone raptors roaming the far-away hills. In the absence of absolute war, an odd stillness filled the place, and..

Crack!
A loud sound of wood breaking apart snapped through the once tranquil place, followed by the sound of a female orc cursing out loud. With a low snort, Morgeth threw the bow to the side, letting it join in a pile with at least three of its broken kin. Her son, the chubby Kraag, giggled in glee at his mother's failure, which earned him an affectionate grumble in turn.
"Cute, y'lil' savage."
An oustretched hand, covered in markings from the vile fel-magics, stretched out to briefly caress the tuft of black hair adorning the head of the orc child. When she motioned her hand back to her own lap, Morgeth's gaze was drawn to the horizon, where the sun had already begun to lower down. Whenever she dared close her eyes, the horrid events from last night started playing over and over again. She had been confronted regarding her business in the drag, and it had even been suggested that the son they both shared had been of her blood alone. All this because of a letter someone had dared send the chieftain, telling him to be wary of his warlock mate and her intentions, as well as pointing out to him that he ought to make sure that his son was actually the fruit of his own loins.
She could not decide what had been worse, having to explain to her mate that his son was indeed his own, or feeling fear and anger grip her heart when the chieftain had motioned himself towards the sleeping orcling. It was a hard thing to realise, even in retrospect, how she had been afraid that Kozgugore would actually have hurt Kraag, had she not said the right things.
A stupid fear, most likely. The chieftain would not have laid a finger to a child's hide in either case, she was sure of that. But a mother is always better safe than sorry. However, she did still feel sorry. Sorry and afraid, in fact. An uncontrollable fear that the chieftain's quest for redemption would bring him too far from her, and that - in the end - he would not want to come back. But even with such thoughts, she could not abandon the one thing good about her blood, the only thing pure. Locking gaze with the brown eyes belonging to her son, the young orc curled a light smile around her tusks.
"'E'll b'back. Y'll see. If 'nae f'me, t'en f'you. 'Cause y'deserve alot more."
Kraag greeted his mother's philosophical turn on life by ripping up a large piece of grass and dirt, stuffing the supposedly tasty dish between his plump, green lips. A brief intermezzo later, during which his mother deprived him of his treat, the youngster was shedding tears of injustice into the cloth on her shoulder. In all honesty, he missed his father.
Morgeth stroked the child's back, gritting her teeth as she threw the remaining pieces of grass and dirt to the ground, and finally got to her feet. Kozgugore had said that she would be the one to look after the tribe, and those orcs made Kraag look like a very docile piece of rock.
She wanted to cry, due to the unfairness of it all, and scream out her agony for the world to suffer because of it. Part of her just wanted it all to burn, so that her pain would not be hers alone, but that each and everyone would scream along with her. Maybe then, would they truly understand what it was like.
The warlock sighed quietly, as several large drops of blood ran down from her nostrils, roaming her green skin in a little crimson memory of what orcs once were. She tugged her son closer, wiping the sanguine fluids with the back of her sleeve, and began a tedious walk back to Hammerfall.

[Vargosh]

((My eyes nearly, JUST NEARLY, for I am an orc!, shed a tear!
Anyway, very nice Morgeth!

Seems that pups turning out not to be the right persons is common? ;p harhar.
Though I'm sure it's Koz's.
And if it wasn't, they can't tell can they? O.o ))

[Morgeth]

((Aw. Thanks, Varg.

And I'm not sure <_< Maybe they can sniff it.))

[Garagh]

((aww nice little storie i can now se why you a koz were arguing the WHOLE way to hammerfall hehe))

[Mazguul]

As per usual - beautifully written, Morgeth

Let us hope that the orcies resolve things and that Kozgugore comes back to the tribe in one piece too. Still, poor Morgeth!

[Claws]

Nice Morg

When you catch up to old grumpy give him a crack around the head,
it saves on bows

[Kozgugore]

   There’s a certain scent about the Drag in Orgrimmar that’s unmistakable. The odor of littered gutters along with the innumerable amount of merchants trading in the most exotic and shadiest of goods made Kozgugore’s nose wrinkle in disgust. Even after all those years, he never got quite used to Orgrimmar and the effect it had on its denizens, in his eyes turning every single orc into a tame lamb. Orcs weren’t meant to live in such great cities. Like dogs, orcs are in need of wide, open fields to run freely in, and nature to recreate themselves in.  And like dogs, orcs have a tendency to grow overly snappy when they’re pressed together in a too narrow space.

   Ironically, this was exactly the reason why the highly piqued Chieftain was here. After he led his orcs to Hammerfall to keep an eye on the many activities in the northern kingdoms there, he made his way all the way back to Orgrimmar again after having sworn to his mate to track the source of the many lies. It was with the intent of a blood hound that Kozgugore trekked through the Drag, searching every single wall, tree and sign post for any sign of the posters that wrought such trouble upon his tribe and, most especially, he and his mate, hoping it would lead him to the sender of that grievous letter as well.

   His search led him down into the Cleft of Shadows, the very place where he was told so many shady things resolved around his mate. His thick, green fingers tapped uncomfortably against the hilt of both axes by his sides as he allowed his eyes to get used to the dimmed lights of the Cleft. As he glanced around suspiciously, his keen eyes, despite his age, didn’t fail to spot a female orc standing by a pillar and reach into a bag that hung by her side. As he slowly walked up to the conspicuous she-orc, drawn to her like an enthralled snake, he gave his head a little tilt to the side, intently eyeing her actions before he stood only a few feet away from her. The female must have noticed, as she threw a quick peer over her right shoulder.

   â€œAnything you want, orc?” she asked with a frown on her forehead.

   Nodding down at the bag at her waist, the Chieftain emitted a low response, trying to sound as diplomatic as an orc could without sounding too hostile. An effort that is usually wasted for an orc no matter what he might say. “The bag,” he said in his usual, gruff tone, making the female tilt her head to him as the matted, black hairs fell against her square features. She instinctively withdrew her hand from the bag, keeping those dark, violet eyes locked on the burly orc behind her.

   â€œYou’re looking to rob me now?”

   â€œI have the mood as well as the tools for it. Aye,” he took a step closer to the female as his hand slowly gripped itself tighter around the shaft of one of the axes by his side, making sure she sees the gesture as to indicate to her that he’s indeed in no mood to play around.

   The female orc eyed him intently, narrowing her eyes at him as he drew closer. “Very well. Look for yourself”. The strap that kept the bag secured to her shoulder was lowered to her hand, before she threw the bag straight into Kozgugore. Along with this, something else came flying his way, however. Turning around in a sudden movement, the female sent a small dagger flying from the palm of her hand towards him, hitting him in the chest before she suddenly dashed forward and made a run for it out into the Drag. It was already too late for the Chieftain to respond, as he was instead gritting his teeth at the object protruding from his chest. Most of his protective leather stopped it from making a serious impact, but the tip of the dagger had still buried itself into his flesh. Taking a firm hold of the hilt, he gave a low growl as he pulled it out, casting it aside as he turned around to give chase after the fleeing orc.

   He turned around corners and ran up ledges trying to pursue the female, but all too soon, she was out of his sight. He refused to give in, and he kept on running, searching every corner of the Drag for a trace of the orc. Lights of the many braziers lighting up the Drag flashed past him, and the world started to swing  in front of his eyes like a capsizing ship. His legs started to feel heavier with every running step he took. He started blinking violently at the many flickering lights that appeared in front of his eyes, and a passing orc who looked at him funny looked like he was made out of many flashing, green lights, as if Greatfather Winter came early this year. Whatever it was, that dagger definitely wasn’t a clean one, and it was taking its toll on his limbs and senses. Luckily, that didn’t keep him from spotting a particularly hasty orc dashing towards the Valley of Honour, and so he simply grit his teeth as he forced his weary legs to fly in front of him one by one.

   He let out a groan as he suddenly stepped out into the bright light of the Valley of Honour, having to keep a hand in front of him to protect him against the light of the scorching sun that was previously dimmed in the Drag. It took him several seconds to allow the bright sparkles in his eyes to slowly fade away before he could once again try to spot his target, whom was running further and further away from him, up a steep ledge leading further into the Valley. He gave chase and, despite his legs starting to feel like heavy weights, he ran up the ledge that led to a more remote corner of the Valley. There she was. Looking over the Valley like a vulture to see whether he’s following her yet. She probably didn’t expect him to give such a hasty chase, and now she would pay the price for it. Forcing both his axes out of their protective leathers by his side, he rushed forward to her. The tip of one of his axes hooked into the back of her knee, forcing the she-orc to the ground with a bewildered yelp. In her panic, she turned around and blindly stabbed out another dagger behind her. The tip of her knife pierced into the flesh of his left thigh, too late for him to avoid the stab itself. In a reflex, Kozgugore hacked his other axe down, cleaving down upon the wrist of the stabbing she-orc. She let out a guttural scream as the bones of her wrist snapped with a loud noise, and recoiled to tried and cradle herself together, making an almost pitiful attempt at regaining her composure. From behind long strands of black hair, she stared at the orc with eyes full of hatred. “So the truth finally got the better of the chieftain of the red blade tribe?”

   Gritting his teeth together, Kozgugore threw himself down upon her, letting go of both his axes as he instead chose to reach out for her green throat, wrapping his thick, yet heavily shaking, fingers around it. The female reached her other hand out to him, clawing wildly at his face as he snarled down at her, his voice raspy and weak from exhaustion. “Gh-rrh. T-tell me... w-ho... sent you!”

   â€œYou'll get n-nothing... from me, scum,” she replied in a feral, little snarl, even though she could barely breathe. In her desperate struggle, she must have realized she couldn’t take the larger orc from her, as she instead chose to dig her feet into the ground, squirming in the chieftain’s grip as she tried to shift her weight to force him down the cliff that lead down into a waterfall. Such a motion was ill-expected from the chieftain and, with a throaty growl, he slipped off the cliff. He wasn’t lonely in his fall however. He grasped his fingers around her collar, giving it a firm yank. They ended up in a brief battle in mid-flight, she clawing at him whilst he aimed to force her down underneath him, which is exactly what happened when they landed. Getting the wind knocked out of her, the she-orc gasped for breath as a muffled crack was heard from her bones. Water splashed all around them, having landed in the pond of the Valley of Honour in between the many rocks at the bottom of the waterfall. A trickle of blood leaked from the corner of her mouth as she struggled to keep the chieftain from her, who in turns cupped his hand around her chin and cheek, forcing her to keep still. His other hand lowered itself to his thigh, wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the protruding dagger. A loud, pained cry is what followed, as the orc pried the blade out of his skin with an uncomfortable wriggle to it, leaving the blood free to leak down into the water. He raised the hand with the knife in it to her bared throat, hissing his words at her as the bloodied blade was pushed firmly against the wet texture of her skin. “You c-can... still live, orc. T... Tell me.”

   The female could feel her broken body failing as she shivered in exhaustion. Despite that, her eyes kept a relentless glare to the chieftain's face as she voiced her stubborn response. “The… pollution of the Horde. Look around you. W-we need to start anew, and… rid ourselves of this rot once and for all. A-and… any family with a warlock in it, is already… a faulty one,” she hissed up at him as she still had enough strength to bare her teeth at her, mocking him with her words that stabbed through his heart. “So no. L-live... knowing that you are nothing but a simple murderer, if you take my life.”

   Although his breath now shook as much as his trembling hands did, Kozgugore pushed the blade further against the skin of her throat, rippling it as a faint drop of red blood was pried from the skin. “I have done things far... worse than t-his in the past. Th-things not a warlock could imagine. We normal orcs be the d-devils here, orc.”

   Kozgugore would have said more, but his tongue came to a standstill. As the female underneath him squirmed and shook her head in defiance, he didn’t fail to spot a strange, black mark on the tip of her ear. He forced her head aside and lifted green fingers to her ear, forcing it to fold over. There it was: A tattooed mark of the Burning Blade clan. Kozgugore grit his teeth as he tried to tighten his grip around the dagger, but it was already too late.

   The female was all too aware of what he saw, and she had lifted her hand to rip the hilt from his hands, her body jumping back to life as she raised the dagger up towards him. He snarled angrily as he was caught off-guard, and in his desperation, he simply lifted his hand to wrap itself around the lower part of the blade, forcing thick streams of blood to flow in between his fist as he tried to twist the blade down towards her again, his hand shaking in its feeble attempt as the poison still numbed his limbs. In the struggle to fight over a hold of the weapon, Kozgugore spat his words down at her, attempting to keep her face forced to the side so that it was slowly motioned down deeper into the water. “Stink-ing… Burning Blade… -spit-.”

   The Burning Blade female shuddered in exhaustion, and some kind of bitter realization of a cause lost shot through her mind. She glared up to the orc chieftain as he shook violently in his efforts, the poison making him twitch and spasm uncontrollably as it burned him from the inside. It was then, as the dagger smoothly ran into the chest, that she seemed strangely surprised. Though she gave a loud, guttural gasp, life slowly disappeared from the female’s gaze, and her hands grew lip. In a dull, little motion, her entire body sunk down into the quiet stream of the water, her hair floating around her in a thick array of seaweed-like appearance, seeming almost peaceful, somehow. The more livelier orc on top of her, however, gave a loud growl as he collapsed down upon her in the water, spluttering violently to try and keep upright. He reached a shaking hand to the bottom of the lake, though it proved too slippery for him to gain a proper foothold in. As his face hit the water, a liquid set of blood spread itself in the water from his mouth. With a final, shaking effort, he flailed his arms to the side, gaining support from the rocks on either sides as he pushed himself up on one knee, granting him a better view of his assailant lying on the bottom of the pond underneath him, who stared lifelessly up to the starry sky.

   There are many things an orc could do when he just killed a fellow orc in Orgrimmar, even if it be Burning Blade. He could hand himself in and let the Warchief decide over his fate, or simply leave her lying here and speak to no orc about it. All of these thoughts grew vivid as he thought of what this orc’s actions brought with it, and he reached a hand down into the water. Grasping the floating hair tightly, he yanked the limp corpse up from the water. He pried the dagger from her chest, and started sawing the head clean from its shoulders. He gave a choking gasp for air as the body fell lifelessly back into the water again, as if he awoke from some sort of ecstasy. An ecstasy that bitterly reminded him of older, younger days of needless bloodshed and grief. This bloodshed was necessary however, and it’s with that thought that he left the head to hang underneath his clenched fist. The long strands of soaked hair fell down along her green, slowly paling features, making it seem like little more but a long, black object. Staggering to the side, the orc growled angrily at his own failing body as he tried to get up to his feet again, pushing himself up whilst he steadied himself to a rock. He gasped for air as his burning body pleaded him to rest, but nevertheless, the stubborn orc raised one foot in front of another as he stepped over the floating, headless body. Stumbling forward, he cursed violently as he tried to get up again, staggering and limping forward out of the lake.

   Now, orcs usually have a good taste for wholesome meat. For some, even a slippery fish or two can brighten up the day after a long day’s work. This is what might well have gone through Gorblud’s head, who was fishing at the side of the lake. He would have surely caught a good few fishes, were it not for a violent set of waves in the water. Looking up, a bloodied, wet orc came limping his way, keeping a long, black object in his hand that hung limb along his body. The orc looked up, and greeted Gorblud with a low, yet surprised, grumble. “G-grom-damned. Not supposed to be in... Hammerfall yet, o-orc?”

[Morgeth]

((Hah, loved the story. You have a knack for writing battle-sequences that I'll never master. Should force you to write us more stories in the future. Go get them burning blade!))

[Vargosh]

(( Haha, nice story Koz ^^ ))