Orgog wasn’t surprised the night elf had ceased his cowardly shouting after arriving in Orgrimmar. He had met many night elves before, albeit always in combat scenarios. They had a habit of keeping their cool under pressure, especially when it came to their pride in the face of an enemy. Orgog dragged the man by rope into the depths of the Ragefire Chasm. A few trolls and tauren glared at him on his way through the city streets, but he paid them no heed. A stone guard of the Horde had the authority to take prisoners of war. It would take quite the uproar to get a superior officer on his case, and he didn’t plan to stick around on the ground level long enough to cause one.
Orgog had once served the Kor’kron. He had assisted in building the massive underground fortress Garrosh Hellscream had used as a bunker in his final days as Warchief. There were plenty of patrols throughout the citadel, those searching for stranglers from the recent siege and such, but Orgog knew where he had to go to avoid unwanted attention. The storage chamber was still filled wall to wall with remnants of the campaign in Pandaria. The Horde had made an effort to sort through the artifacts to either return them for political reasons or reuse them for their own purposes, but there were plenty of nooks and crannies for the right person to exploit. In one such place, Orgog secured his prisoner, and removed the burlap sack he had thrown over his head for security reasons.
The night elf’s face was painted with concern now that only Orgog could see him. The masks these elves could put on impressed Orgog, but their strength was what he admired most. Night elves were inhumanly strong, rivaling even orcs in the most extreme cases. That combined with their hunter’s intuition and dexterity made for ferocious killers. The man who kneeled before Orgog, however, was a mere worker at best. The night elf spoke in the Common tongue of the humans, "I do not know what it is you want, orc. I will do whatever you want, please, don’t hurt me. I have a family!” Orgog understood. He had been taught the language by a shaman translator while in captivity. A useful skill, to know the voice of your enemy.
Orgog put a finger to his mouth, silencing the elf. He removed his dragonscale helm at a leisurely pace. Slow enough to build suspense. The elf would do anything to save his own skin, no doubt, but Orgog had to be sure. Once his helm was removed, he place it on the ground and let the elf get a good look at his face. Wrinkled and gruff, Orgog’s face was smeared with grease, sweat, and a long beard running along his jawline. His eyes were pure red, his hair a deep crimson and cut in a short Mohawk. Several scars, many still red and fresh, dressed his face like form-fitting clothes. They complimented his look nicely and told stories of his accomplishments. The elf stared, breathing hard, waiting for the orc to speak.
Orgog finally obliged, “What I want from you is total cooperation. You will do something for me, and in return you will live your pathetic life however long you elves live these days. I am searching for a man. An orc, named Randar Strongaxe.” Orgog paused to let the name sink in. “Randar was imprisoned years ago by the Alliance. He must be somewhere in one of your capital cities. Stormwind stockades, Darnassus dungeons, Ironforge prisons. You will search them all. If and when you find him, you will find me, and then you will forget we ever met.”
The night elf stared at him, too stunned for words. When he finally spoke, he asked, “Why me? I don’t know anything about prisons, or orcs, or combat. I’m only a peaceful leatherworker!”
Orgog grunted, as he often did when he needed to be blunt. “I picked you out of chance. You were alone, and easy to capture. And you are no military type like the many of your kind I slew on the battlefield only yesterday.”
The elf sat in silence for a few moments, unclear on how to respond. Then he spoke again, “And if I agree…you will return me to Darnassus? What…what’s to stop me from going to the sentinels for protection?”
Orgog was curious as to why the elf would ask, but he quickly reasoned it out. If he didn’t ask, and he did go to the elves, Orgog might have an unpleasant surprise waiting for him. Even if he did raise Orgog’s suspicion, it would be better to know how one was being tracked than to live in the shadow of death unknowingly. Orgog spoke, “I have an ally who will take care of that for me. A shadow priest.” Orgog left it at that. Alleda, the priest he spoke of, was a specialist that worked for a friend of his in Silvermoon. She was a prodigy in the ways of the shadows, especially in mind control magic. She would keep an eye on this man so long as she was within a reasonable distance. Hiding her somewhere on Teldrassil would do.
The elf looked uncertain, but he spoke more quickly this time. “I will do as you ask, so long as myself and my family as unharmed.”
Orgog squinted at the man. “Swear to me by the souls of your ancestors, and by the moon goddess of your people.”
“I swear…by the spirits of my ancestors, in the light of Elune. I shall search for Randar Strongaxe.”
"I am the Night!" -Brinnea, Rikthered, Cynthya, Orgog, Kazarak.....