Disclaimer: What you are about to read uses elements from Blizzard Entertainment's "World of Warcraft", including but not limited to: settings, ideas and characters. After repeated calls they still refuse to give me the rights to their intellectual property so it's safe to bet that all material within (excluding original characters created by the author (me, Seblik)) belong to Blizzard and their wonderful franchise, which is being used without express written or verbal consent. (Please don't sue!)
A pale blue sky reigned above a desolate and dusty red wasteland, which in turn was domain to creatures as unyielding as their home. Marred only by the brilliant yellow disc that rolled into the zenith of the sky, signifying high noon, the sun beat down upon Durotar relentlessly and without mercy. In the northern reaches of the red expanse lay the city of Orgrimmar, commanding the canyons and craggy wastes of the land.
Within the confines of the city however the harsh, desolate stretch of land outside is softened by the pulse of life flowing through Orgrimmar's many winding valleys and roads. Amidst the roar of the throng of buyers and sellers in the markets, Zandali chanting in the Valley of Spirits and hushed voices in the Cleft of Shadows, one can always discern the clangor of steel singing in the Ring of Valor.
"Ya need tah be tightenin' your stance boy."
"If it were any tighter," the orc grunted, adjusting to deflect a glancing blow to his shoulder, "it would give the arse of that old bastard Strogg some competition."
He trotted backwards, the coarse golden sand of the arena gripping his bare feet. Brushing a thick forearm across his face, he melded a sweat streaked lock back into the unbound black mane that framed his face and smiled fiercely at his instructor.
"Watch where yah doin' that Rogar, it is Children's Week aftah all," the troll advised, bearing his pink, almost toothless gums in a grin.
Through squinted eyes Zenzal looked to the side of the arena and gestured toward a taller, more limber troll leaning in the shade of the pit to escape the day's dusty heat. The troll saw the signal and hefted a weapon from the rack beside him and made his way to the hunched elder who called him.
"You're in no place to talk you withered old fool," Rogar laughed, spinning the axes he held in each hand, sunlight catching on the jagged polished steel.
He watched as Zenzal's aide exchanged his two short swords for a massive two-handed blade. A wider smile parted Rogar's lips at the sight of the old troll struggling with the weapon as his assistant ambled away.
"I've never seen you wield such a mighty blade my friend. It is a shame I am going to break you before you have a chance to swing it," mocked the young orc playfully as he began to close the ground between them, the leather-bound hafts of his axes gripped firmly. "I'll make this quick."
The wrinkled blue hands of the troll strained against the weight of the sword, his lean and sinewy muscles managing to draw the blade into a proper but unsteady stance. Beaded sweat from his hairless pate trickled down his cheek and caught in the white, wispy hairs on the tip of his chin.
"Keep yah wits about you boy. Zenzal may be old but he be no pushover yah overgrown cactus," Zenzal answered, revealing another pink smile.
Rogar's lips went taut in a smirk as he broke from a walk into a run toward the troll who was hunched shakily in a defensive position. He brought an arm up and across to his shoulder, the blade out and straightened the other behind him for a follow-up strike. The distance between the two closed to but a few meters and the orc shifted his weight suddenly to his right foot, falling into a slight crouch before bursting left just outside of striking distance.
He swung the axe that he held close to his chest, arcing horizontally to meet the troll's neck but all the blade tasted was the flat of Zenzal's sword. Rogar drew his arm back with the recoil, commending the troll's quick but lucky pivot. A growl rumbled from the orc's powerful jaw as he brought his other arm down using his remaining momentum to unify steel with flesh but was disappointed once again.
Rogar's axe cut through a swath of air where Zenzal was but a heartbeat ago. The unanticipated move tipped him slightly off balance, swinging low and powerfully. He regained his stance quickly and looked to meet his opponent once more but found the old troll crouched, sword flashing toward him. He pumped his legs to escape the blade's reach but the sand offered little support under the attempt and the flat of Zenzal's broad blade struck the orc squarely in his ribs.
The breath exploded from Rogar's lungs as the force of the blow flung him sideways, leaving him sprawled on the sand, a low groaning escaping his lips. The troll looked to his quarry through squinted eyes and, satisfied that defeat was accepted, ambled over to his body as Rogar shifted to sit up.
"Zenzal be warnin' yah, young one. It is not tha strong who underestimate," he began, planting the sword firmly and gathering sand into his ancient hands as he crouched beside the orc. "That be a fool's move, an' no warchief of Zenzal's be a fool," he continued, tapping his nose with a long finger.
"I'm not the warchief yet, Zenzal, I think you've been in the sun too long."
Tilting his head, Rogar cleared his throat and spat a glob of saliva threaded with blood and some of the sand he ingested. Lifting the hem of his armor, he slowly began examining his ribs under his chain mail. His teeth clenched at the heated pain stemming from a pair of cracked ribs he pressed his fingers to. He noted a few more as he continued down.
"Not bad you shriveled blueberry. Four cracked ribs, one more than last time. And a few bruised ones even," he added with a pained expression, probing further.
"Zenzal taught your father an' way back to his greatfather, Vagar the Bloodfist. An' not a single one woulda been da orc dey waz without ol' Zenzal," the wizened troll regarded with a firm nod. "An' now it be your turn young one. You 'ave strong blood in those veins Rogar, warrior blood. Aftah twenty summahs, your body be strong enough tah begin your real training."
"I was wondering when you'd finally realize it," Rogar agreed. He removed his hand from under his chain mail and pushed off from the sand to stand up. He flexed, arms stretched out as he rotated his torso from side to side then relaxed his posture, gingerly rubbing his aching ribs.
"Still being bested by that old troll?" A deep, refined voice chuckled from the deep shadow of the arena hallway.
Fighting a grin, he turned to face the source of the voice and replied, "Why don't you come out here and test your mettle, Kraz?"
A figure stepped out from the shadows and into the beaming sun illuminating the arena floor, golden sand crunching beneath knee-high worg-skin boots. The man was an orc, a head taller than Rogar and leaner than most but still roped with muscle. He wore a loose gray-blue robe adorned with depictions of the elements, underneath which he wore a plain gray leather jerkin and black linen pants. His hair flowed in thick, black-blue tresses with thin braids haphazardly strewn in affixed with small trinkets of bone and lacquered wood. He approached Rogar, pausing for a moment as they locked eyes then embraced him warmly with a light laugh, patting his back with a gloved hand.
"It is good to see you old friend."
"Yes, it has been a while now hasn't it," Rogar said thoughtfully.
"Indeed, father has been grooming me to be an ambassador to the Alliance, as you know. I just returned from Theramore this morning after twelve moons of visitation and working with the humans. Your father told me you would be here," Kraz replied, then looked to the crouched troll and smiled. "Ancestors smile upon you Zenzal, how do those old bones fare?"
"Good enough tah move meself from here tah there," said Zenzal, offering a pink grin.
"Then nothing has truly changed then," chuckled Kraz, taking in a deep breath. "It is good to be home again. Oh, before I forget, I was told that your father is calling for a meeting of the councils at sundown and he wants you and I to sit-in."
"Aye, Zenzal has already informed me," Rogar replied, and looked to the troll, still crouched beside him. "Have we concluded our lesson for today?" He asked as he reached down for the axes he dropped. As he gathered them, the blades underwent a brief inspection before being fastened to loops on his waist.
"Ah suppose so," the troll shrugged as he rose, his ancient vertebrae cracking softly. Zenzal fingered the white wisps at the tip of his dagger-like chin, a thoughtful expression glazed over his face as he looked skyward.
Sunlight swelled through the opening at the epicenter of the domed arena, combating the great shadow cast by the rest of the massive building. As the three stood in the warm golden sand, a vast blanket of rumbling clouds began to roll in from the north. The light within began to wane as the deep blue veil muted the sun, draping a gloom over the great arena. Kraz's eyes scanned the darkening sky, his brows furrowed. Rogar, standing beside his friend, conducted his expression in a similar fashion.
"Durotar has not tasted rain for thirteen moons," mused the warrior orc, his gaze cast upward.
"An' was not supposed tah for another two," Zenzal added and began down the hallway from where Kraz made his entrance. "I expect tah see you two at da council," he concluded with a wave of his hand, his thin figure escaping beyond the dim light. Enveloped by heavy shadows, he was gone.
The orcs lingered, exchanging glances as a rolling crash of thunder broke the silence between them and rain began to fall. The wide, even expanse of golden sand was now spotted with caramel brown where water and earth met. In a matter of minutes Orgrimmar's dry, battering heat was relieved by cool, heavy rain. Amidst the low roar of the clouds, the clamor in the streets of the city could be heard beyond the arena, the bewildered citizens likely praising the unexpected downpour.
"Well friend, let's get you caught up with everyone. I know Shuula has been talking about you, 'Oh ancestors, guide Kraz home safely to my warm embrace.' Right in Khiva's tavern I heard her," Rogar described, slapping his friend on the back and nudged him to turn and move toward the tunnel.
"Is that so? Was that ghastly falsetto an attempt at imitating Shuula?" Asked the leaner orc, crossing his arms.
"Was it truly ghastly?" Rogar shot back, the image of insulted.
"Ancestors watch over us," sighed Kraz as they entered the tunnel.
A/N: Hello all, my name is Seblik and this is my first serious attempt at writing fanfiction! If you caught this fic before the update, yes I did remove the prologue chapter. I felt it would be better to have you (the reader!) hit the ground running with no previous knowledge of how the world has changed. I thrive on criticism so please comment and review! :)