Of Honour and Strength
Verfasst: Do 8. Mär 2012, 08:17
Kerag was drowning in the city. How he had ever been able to live like this was beyond him. Orgrimmar, his home for many years, had become alien to him in more than just its recent, unnerving change in appearance, although that was part of it. He did not recognize it anymore, not by its looks, but more importantly, not by what he felt as he moved through the streets. It no longer felt like he belonged here. Instead, he had felt oppressed as soon as he had entered the city. Moving with the crowd had once been natural to him, but now it felt like the merciless tides of the city's inhabitants had seized him without warning and imprisoned him within an overwhelming, moving cage of bodies, dictating his every move. The same held true for all the noise. Much of it he would not have noticed in the past, but now the vivid conversations of the surrounding people, the shouting of the merchants peddling their goods, the sounds of the workshops, and the unnatural rattling from one of the goblin engines high above him fused into a sonic monstrosity that gnawed at his spirit and set him on edge.
The tremendous heat was only adding to it. Sweat was covering every inch of his haggard, yet muscular green body that was not covered by his ancient armour of fur-trimmed leather. The sweat ran over his skin in thick drops, slowly soaking his smoky-grey beard and dripping into his eyes faster than he could wipe it away. The black metal of the new buildings and walls smouldered in the sun, shrouding the city in a heat haze as if Orgrimmar was nothing more than a fiery dream. The reek of sweat, excrement, and fermenting fruits constantly lingered in his nostrils and caused his stomach to rebel.
Kerag sighed. He would have never deemed it possible for him to miss the smothering emptiness of the Barrens, but now he found that he did. There, the soul could at least breathe. He smirked joylessly. A lot had indeed changed over the years. All of a sudden he felt old.
You are old, you fool, he corrected himself.
He was jolted from his thoughts when somebody bumped into his shoulder. Anger flared up in him, but before he had the chance to react, the crowd flowed on and forced Kerag forward, separating him from the unheeding citizen and swallowing him quickly. Kerag cursed under his breath. Grudgingly, he walked on. Out of habit, he reached for his purse, then for the battleaxe resting in an oiled sheath on his back, making sure his old comrade was still where it belonged. He would not take any chances with the riffraff that dwelled in the city. He had not forgotten how things worked here.
For what seemed like an eternity, he crawled through the bursting streets, moving out of the Valley of Strength into the narrow, eastern canyon known as the Drag and finally into the Valley of Honour. The streets were less crowded here than they had been around the great market, but still full enough to cause him unease. Even from the entrance of the valley, the Circle of Valour, Orgrimmar's massive arena, dominated the scene alongside the main barracks known as the Hall of the Brave, together forming the very centre of the orcish warrior culture. Completely ignoring the barracks, Kerag headed for the arena.
The Ring of Valour had been erected on a small rise. As the name suggested, it was a circular structure, nestled into a curve at the valley's northern edge. Formally, it had been a construction of stone and wood, but like with so many buildings, the new Warchief of the Horde, Garrosh Hellscream, had decided that this had to change. Already, a solid scaffold surrounded the arena. On it, Kerag could see a few goblin workers hiding from the heat in whatever shadows they could find. They could apparently afford it: work seemed to be progressing well. Before long, the arena would be turned into another monstrosity of dark steel. Kerag hated the sight. To see how natural building materials were being replaced by glooming, black metal reminded him of darker days; days he rather would rather forget about.
Due to the crowded streets, he arrived later than he had initially intended. Already groups of youngsters were pouring out of the Ring of Valour, all battered and bruised and yet with happy and proud expressions, telling him that this day's training session had just ended. His eyes scanned the aspiring warriors' faces, but did not find what he had come looking for. He threw a glance back the way he had come. Could he already have missed him?
With growing impatience, he sat down on an old bench in front of a nearby sweat lodge, tapping away with his foot on the dry ground as he suspiciously monitored the entrance of the arena. The constant stream of young orcs eventually subsided, but still there was no sight of the one Kerag sought.
He was already considering to head back when he saw what had to be the young warriors' trainer appearing in the entrance of the arena. Kerag disliked him instantly. The muscular orc looked like a fighter all right, but one of the worst kind. It was written all over his face and was apparent in every single boasting move he made. Small, violent orbs with a feverish glimmer spoke of a talent for cruelty that would prove fatal for anyone who ever found himself at this brute's mercy. Disgusted by the thought, Kerag spat on the ground.
The arena trainer discussed something with the two guards standing watch at the Ring's entrance. They shared a laugh, but then something strange happened. The trainer slipped one of the guards a few coins. He did it covertly. Kerag would have missed it if it had not been for the coin's reflection in the sun. He had no idea what this was about, but bribery from a warrior like this could only mean one thing: Something was wrong here.
Immediately, all thoughts about simply picking up a boy vanished from Kerag's thoughts, replaced by a strong sense of justice and honour that had always slumbered inside of him. The suspiciously charitable warrior departed with the composure of one not worried about being caught. This is not your lucky day, Kerag swore silently. He waited until the warrior was gone before he rose and slowly moved towards the guards. The fashion in which the two grunts exchanged an uneasy glance told him that they were not happy to see him. Yet, they did their best to hide their feelings quickly, and instead projected an aura of strength and determination. Kerag smiled to himself, a growing part of him already looking forward to the confrontation.
That was when he heard it. At first he was not sure whether he had actually heard anything or if his mind was just playing tricks on him, but it was enough to clear the violent haze that had begun to engulf his thoughts. Kerag paused, then closed his eyes and listened more closely. Sure enough, he heard it again, clearer this time. It came from the depths of the arena, barely perceivable, muffled and twisted. Still, Kerag knew the sound only to well. Deep down there, someone was screaming.
Startled, the axe-bearer rushed forward, only to find his path blocked by the two guards.
''No one is allowed in there, after the training has ended,'' said the bigger guard, the one who had received the bribe.
''Are you deaf!?'' Kerag raged. ''Somebody is still in there. Did you not hear the scream?''
The guards exchanged a puzzled look. It was obviously fake. The bigger one even gave Kerag a crooked grin.
''I have not heard anything.'' He turned to his companion. ''Have you?''
The other guard just shook its head, although with a certain reluctance.
''If you are not going to do something about this, I will,'' Kerag said with a cold voice. His patience was exhausted. ''Stand aside!''
The big grunt just chuckled. ''And what if I don't, Grandfather?''
''This.''
Kerag's fist exploded in the guard's face. The warrior fell as if struck by lightning, a dazzled expression on his face the moment before he lost consciousness. With a speed that belied his age, Kerag turned to the second guardsman. Startled at first, the orc roared and threw himself at Kerag, but the move was clumsy and easily anticipated. Kerag swept the snatching arms aside, grabbed the grunt in mid-air, and whirled around to hammer the soldier's head against the wall of the arena. The orc slumped to the ground, small pieces of rubble crumbling down with him as he fell. He did not move to rise again.
''That is the problem with you youngsters these days,'' Kerag remarked as he rubbed his painfully throbbing fist. ''No constitution.''
Kerag felt good at first, alive. But as soon as the adrenalin left his body the brief satisfaction quickly turned into remorse. Kerag scowled at himself for being so impulsive, for not thinking things through before he took action. One might have thought that the years would have cooled his hot blood, that he would have grown more careful and patient, but if anything, age had managed to make him more morose and irritable. What few insights he had gained were just the source of new sorrows burdening his thoughts. There was no wisdom or inner strength maturing inside his body; only decay and an ever-growing weariness.
And now he had two unconscious grunts to get rid of somehow. The ancestors truly had sent a cruel fate his way. He would give them a piece of his mind about that once he had joined them, he decided, then chuckled. A brawl without the limitations of the flesh was certainly something he would enjoy immensely.
Unfortunately, that would have to wait. First, he needed to solve the problems at hand. He looked around, trying to see if anyone had noticed his little argument with the guards, but everything was quiet and peaceful. Nobody seemed to pay him any attention. Relieved, Kareg looked up to send his gratitude to his ancestors. While doing that, he accidentally stared into the faces of half a dozen goblin workers that were ogling him with gleeful excitement.
Kerag gulped, and slowly reached for his axe.
The tremendous heat was only adding to it. Sweat was covering every inch of his haggard, yet muscular green body that was not covered by his ancient armour of fur-trimmed leather. The sweat ran over his skin in thick drops, slowly soaking his smoky-grey beard and dripping into his eyes faster than he could wipe it away. The black metal of the new buildings and walls smouldered in the sun, shrouding the city in a heat haze as if Orgrimmar was nothing more than a fiery dream. The reek of sweat, excrement, and fermenting fruits constantly lingered in his nostrils and caused his stomach to rebel.
Kerag sighed. He would have never deemed it possible for him to miss the smothering emptiness of the Barrens, but now he found that he did. There, the soul could at least breathe. He smirked joylessly. A lot had indeed changed over the years. All of a sudden he felt old.
You are old, you fool, he corrected himself.
He was jolted from his thoughts when somebody bumped into his shoulder. Anger flared up in him, but before he had the chance to react, the crowd flowed on and forced Kerag forward, separating him from the unheeding citizen and swallowing him quickly. Kerag cursed under his breath. Grudgingly, he walked on. Out of habit, he reached for his purse, then for the battleaxe resting in an oiled sheath on his back, making sure his old comrade was still where it belonged. He would not take any chances with the riffraff that dwelled in the city. He had not forgotten how things worked here.
For what seemed like an eternity, he crawled through the bursting streets, moving out of the Valley of Strength into the narrow, eastern canyon known as the Drag and finally into the Valley of Honour. The streets were less crowded here than they had been around the great market, but still full enough to cause him unease. Even from the entrance of the valley, the Circle of Valour, Orgrimmar's massive arena, dominated the scene alongside the main barracks known as the Hall of the Brave, together forming the very centre of the orcish warrior culture. Completely ignoring the barracks, Kerag headed for the arena.
The Ring of Valour had been erected on a small rise. As the name suggested, it was a circular structure, nestled into a curve at the valley's northern edge. Formally, it had been a construction of stone and wood, but like with so many buildings, the new Warchief of the Horde, Garrosh Hellscream, had decided that this had to change. Already, a solid scaffold surrounded the arena. On it, Kerag could see a few goblin workers hiding from the heat in whatever shadows they could find. They could apparently afford it: work seemed to be progressing well. Before long, the arena would be turned into another monstrosity of dark steel. Kerag hated the sight. To see how natural building materials were being replaced by glooming, black metal reminded him of darker days; days he rather would rather forget about.
Due to the crowded streets, he arrived later than he had initially intended. Already groups of youngsters were pouring out of the Ring of Valour, all battered and bruised and yet with happy and proud expressions, telling him that this day's training session had just ended. His eyes scanned the aspiring warriors' faces, but did not find what he had come looking for. He threw a glance back the way he had come. Could he already have missed him?
With growing impatience, he sat down on an old bench in front of a nearby sweat lodge, tapping away with his foot on the dry ground as he suspiciously monitored the entrance of the arena. The constant stream of young orcs eventually subsided, but still there was no sight of the one Kerag sought.
He was already considering to head back when he saw what had to be the young warriors' trainer appearing in the entrance of the arena. Kerag disliked him instantly. The muscular orc looked like a fighter all right, but one of the worst kind. It was written all over his face and was apparent in every single boasting move he made. Small, violent orbs with a feverish glimmer spoke of a talent for cruelty that would prove fatal for anyone who ever found himself at this brute's mercy. Disgusted by the thought, Kerag spat on the ground.
The arena trainer discussed something with the two guards standing watch at the Ring's entrance. They shared a laugh, but then something strange happened. The trainer slipped one of the guards a few coins. He did it covertly. Kerag would have missed it if it had not been for the coin's reflection in the sun. He had no idea what this was about, but bribery from a warrior like this could only mean one thing: Something was wrong here.
Immediately, all thoughts about simply picking up a boy vanished from Kerag's thoughts, replaced by a strong sense of justice and honour that had always slumbered inside of him. The suspiciously charitable warrior departed with the composure of one not worried about being caught. This is not your lucky day, Kerag swore silently. He waited until the warrior was gone before he rose and slowly moved towards the guards. The fashion in which the two grunts exchanged an uneasy glance told him that they were not happy to see him. Yet, they did their best to hide their feelings quickly, and instead projected an aura of strength and determination. Kerag smiled to himself, a growing part of him already looking forward to the confrontation.
That was when he heard it. At first he was not sure whether he had actually heard anything or if his mind was just playing tricks on him, but it was enough to clear the violent haze that had begun to engulf his thoughts. Kerag paused, then closed his eyes and listened more closely. Sure enough, he heard it again, clearer this time. It came from the depths of the arena, barely perceivable, muffled and twisted. Still, Kerag knew the sound only to well. Deep down there, someone was screaming.
Startled, the axe-bearer rushed forward, only to find his path blocked by the two guards.
''No one is allowed in there, after the training has ended,'' said the bigger guard, the one who had received the bribe.
''Are you deaf!?'' Kerag raged. ''Somebody is still in there. Did you not hear the scream?''
The guards exchanged a puzzled look. It was obviously fake. The bigger one even gave Kerag a crooked grin.
''I have not heard anything.'' He turned to his companion. ''Have you?''
The other guard just shook its head, although with a certain reluctance.
''If you are not going to do something about this, I will,'' Kerag said with a cold voice. His patience was exhausted. ''Stand aside!''
The big grunt just chuckled. ''And what if I don't, Grandfather?''
''This.''
Kerag's fist exploded in the guard's face. The warrior fell as if struck by lightning, a dazzled expression on his face the moment before he lost consciousness. With a speed that belied his age, Kerag turned to the second guardsman. Startled at first, the orc roared and threw himself at Kerag, but the move was clumsy and easily anticipated. Kerag swept the snatching arms aside, grabbed the grunt in mid-air, and whirled around to hammer the soldier's head against the wall of the arena. The orc slumped to the ground, small pieces of rubble crumbling down with him as he fell. He did not move to rise again.
''That is the problem with you youngsters these days,'' Kerag remarked as he rubbed his painfully throbbing fist. ''No constitution.''
Kerag felt good at first, alive. But as soon as the adrenalin left his body the brief satisfaction quickly turned into remorse. Kerag scowled at himself for being so impulsive, for not thinking things through before he took action. One might have thought that the years would have cooled his hot blood, that he would have grown more careful and patient, but if anything, age had managed to make him more morose and irritable. What few insights he had gained were just the source of new sorrows burdening his thoughts. There was no wisdom or inner strength maturing inside his body; only decay and an ever-growing weariness.
And now he had two unconscious grunts to get rid of somehow. The ancestors truly had sent a cruel fate his way. He would give them a piece of his mind about that once he had joined them, he decided, then chuckled. A brawl without the limitations of the flesh was certainly something he would enjoy immensely.
Unfortunately, that would have to wait. First, he needed to solve the problems at hand. He looked around, trying to see if anyone had noticed his little argument with the guards, but everything was quiet and peaceful. Nobody seemed to pay him any attention. Relieved, Kareg looked up to send his gratitude to his ancestors. While doing that, he accidentally stared into the faces of half a dozen goblin workers that were ogling him with gleeful excitement.
Kerag gulped, and slowly reached for his axe.