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Posts: 113
Joined: March 29th, 2014, 11:06 pm

As if From a Mirror

Postby RiktheRed21 » March 4th, 2015, 4:22 am

Orgog Strongaxe and his mate Malga rode with the Horde to the Gates of Grommashar. The sounds of footfalls, steel shrieks, and battlecries filled the air as the host came closer and closer to the great wooden gates that kept the Warsong in and the intruders out. Orgog eyed them up and down, recognition painting his face. This was home once. A place where honor and glory above all things were key. Now he stood before it again, only now something had twisted and altered it. His mind told him where that corruption had sprouted from. Garrosh Hellscream. The former Warchief had earned Orgog’s respect and trust once, but that was before the man had sent him and others among the Kor’kron to assassinate their own allies, their own family, within the Horde. That was something Orgog could not stomach. Garrosh did not deserve a warrior’s death, but Orgog would be willing to grant him one should he get the chance. Malga seemed to read his expression.

“My love, you must not be too rash in this battle,” she said, with words made of soft wool concealing sharp steel. “Garrosh knows the Horde as well as any of us. He will be ready for us.” The huntress had her bow strung and ready. Orgog could feel his passion for her rise within him as a warm tide, but he let his emotions go to ready himself for combat.

“I will not throw myself greedily to death, Malga. I will not leave my children to grow without a father, and I will not abandon you.” He drew his axes, prepared for the command to attack. A gentle wind drew across Orgog’s crimson hair as he lowered his helm into place. It felt comforting to have so soft a wind before such a rough, heated affair. He considered it a good omen from the spirits of Nagrand. Orgog breathed in the air, and exhaled. He was ready.

The Gates of Grommashar exploded, splintered, exploded again, and finally fell to tiny, blackened, jagged bits of wood. Orgog quickly joined in the mass shout for war as artillery landed all around him. A cloud of dark vapor choked him within his helm as the wolf riders began to charge forth into the breach. Directive shouts were drowned out by the crash of cannons, the clash of steel on steel, and the cry of bloodlust amongst the warriors of both Hordes. Orgog caught a final glimpse of his mate taking aim from wolfback before charging headlong into the iron tide before him. On the pass, he swung his axes, expertly striking Warsong soldiers where their armor was weakest. The weight of the steel heads and the speed of the wolf greatly increased the impact on each target. They fell like bags of sand, spewing their life blood all over the yellowed grass.

Orgog turned his wolf once he reached the end of the first line of Warsong, and made a second pass. On this attack, the Warsong were prepared for the wolf riders, and many were cut down before they landed another blow. Orgog’s wolf was well trained, and he had learned how to command it like an extension of himself. Each blow that would fell the beast struck air, and the attacker paid for his strike with a bite of steel or fang. Pass after pass went by, a whirling blur of crashing metal, snarling yelps, and orcish shouts. Somehow he had ascended the hill of Grommashar by the time he was aware the fighting had come to a lull. The nearby troops were gathered up in preparation for another charge up the hill. Prisoners were gathered up in the meantime, forced to sit back to back in chains, watched over by Horde soldiers. Orgog peered over the faces of the prisoners. He tended to look for people he knew amongst the prisoners taken. It was a bad habit. These were not the people he had once known. And yet he still found his gaze drift to them, as if a moth to a flame. Today, he found someone he had not prepared himself to find.

As if from a mirror, Orgog stared back at himself, brown skin, crimson hair and all. But his eyes were golden, not red as the true Orgog’s were due to demonic taint. The distinctions aside, Orgog was unnerved to have found his past self among the Warsong here. Was this who he truly was? Was it his fate to forever be a peon in Garrosh’s schemes? He had an answer to these questions. The answer was no. He would change his own fate, one way or another.
"I am the Night!" -Brinnea, Rikthered, Cynthya, Orgog, Kazarak.....


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