Remembering Shadows

[Tideraider]

Mal’garr Firefist reclined on a bed in the Razor Hill Tavern. His recent injury at the hands of the centaur raiders had forced him to cease actively serving with the Clan for a while as he healed. This pleased him, looking on his wounding as an opportunity to rest and to reflect. His robes had been ruined by the injury, befouled by blood and torn by the centaur’s spear. As such he now sat draped in simpler attire. For once, a passing glance may not have revealed him as being a Warlock, were it not for the fel-fire erupting from his staff and the red glow of his eyes.

From his belt hung two books, clasped and carefully carried. One held information on the spirits revered by the Red Blade clan. He had studied the book well prior to his injury and had already re-read it since his wounding. It was not to this book he would turn today. Instead he turned to the other. A black tome with crisp, parchment pages. The language inside was Orcish, though written in a form of code, as many of the private works of Warlocks are. Today, Mal’garr had a taste for reminding himself of his own history. He took the black book from his belt and opened it in front of him. He turned it back, far back, to many years past. Though the book was more of an instruction manual on how to perform the work his profession demanded, simply reading the script he had penned when he was a relative novice was enough to take him back to those times…

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Mal’garr stood proudly, doing his best to communicate pride, control, and command, as he watched the Horde forces pour into Azeroth through the Dark Portal for the first time. His hood was down, his red and silver hair and beard waving gently in the wind. This world was truly beautiful to him. Though they had emerged into little better than a swamp, the sight of such life filled the Warlock with hope. His world was dying, but this world fair-teemed with life still. A new life could be built here for his people, once they overcame whatever creatures called this world home. Though, that was simply a matter of time. They were Orcs, what could possibly stand against them?

Mal’garr’s attention was grabbed as another group of Orcs emerged from the portal. The old Orc grinned. Among the fresh batch of warriors who had emerged from the portal, came some of his own blood. His son, and his son, Zul’garr and Zuk’garr, marched alongside the Orc soliders who had emerged to claim this world for them. Zuk’garr, just barely an adult, did his best to stand tall among the more grizzled veterans surrounding him. He had seen little to no combat in the war with the hated Draenei. The young one hoped to prove himself to his father and grandfather in the taking of this new world. The young warrior turned as he marched, saw his grandfather, and grinned, offering a brief salute. Mal’garr returned the gesture with a smile and a slight nod of the head.

Zuk’garr cared for his grandfather and wished to win his approval. His father, Zul’garr, did not. For some time now, Zul’garr had been transparently baring a grudge against his father. Likely due to the fact that age only seemed willing to touch one of them. While Mal’garr’s hair was still red, with occasional silver lines the only obvious sign of his age, his son’s hair had long since turned to a dirty grey. Often had Zul’garr questioned why it is that age did not lie so heavily upon Mal’garr, an orc near twice his age. Mal’garr answered him honestly, that such was the price paid by those who refused to fully embrace the gifts granted them by the new forces at their command.

The taking up of Fel-Magic had never sat well with Zul’garr, though he had been wise enough to not openly question it’s use. He was not a Shaman, he had no mind for such things. When the time came to embrace the demon blood, he did like almost all others, though he did so with reluctance. Zul’garr caught his father’s eye. He gave him a curt nod and received one in response.

Mal’garr returned his gaze to this new world for a moment, thinking. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see his mate standing behind him, dressed in the same dark robes that he wore, the robes that marked the two of them as agents of the Shadow Council to those who had the knowledge to spot such things. She said something to him. He couldn’t recall what she said. Her skin was as green as his, her eyes glowing as red. He recalled thinking that the Fel had done great things. It had made his people strong, him powerful, and his mate more beautiful. The pair then turned to continue watching the armies of the Horde marching to this new world, hopeful about what the future would bring to their people.

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Mal’garr closed the book in his lap, tugging at his long white beard, and smiling softly. Even then, after the horror of the war with the Draenei, he was still naïve. He envied the naivety of his past. Mal’garr returned the book to his belt, curled up, and slept.

[Okiba]

Brilliant read! so much information so quickly.

I look forward to more snippets of the past