1: Arrival in a New World

The hot sun blazed over the parched landscape. It was not uncommon in Durotar for there to be sunshine, but today was particularly hot for what the blood elf thought was supposed to be winter. He had just made a long trip from his native homeland, a place he had called Utherrealm. That place was not as different from this one as he would have imagined. It had similar flora and fauna, and indeed a similar look to the landscape. In fact, this place could easily be mistaken for his home. It looked the same, it smelled the same, it felt the same. The only thing he could figure that made this place different from his home was its name and the people who lived here. This place certainly had more people than Utherrealm, that was for sure. This place, this Bladefistrealm, and the people here were a sight to behold.

The people! How different they were from his home! He remembered people who were quiet and mild mannered- they had no interest in the business of others. Even the small group he hung out with that he would have called friends hardly ever talked and mostly stayed to themselves. Had it not been for his brother, that strange hunter, he would have left his home many years earlier.

But in this new world, the people always seemed to be greatly concerned with each other and their business. Not infrequently did he find some random person at his shoulder, whispering strange things to him, like, "Can I have five silver for some new armor?" At first he had responded, politely telling people he had no money to give them, but their vicious, curse laden responses made him weary of every responding to those kind of people in the future. He was in a new world now, and he knew he had to quickly learn their customs if he were to survive.

As he continued to trudge his way out from Razor Hill into Durotar under the blazing sun, he thought back to his friends he left behind. He remembered kindly Firechief, who was the leader of his small group of friends back in "Uther," as they called it. Firechief was an enigma, for although he was undead he was one of the most animated and "alive" people he had ever met. He always had a joke to tell and was ready in a moment's notice to help anyone in the group. He had given of himself sacrificially to those around him, and it had made a great impact on this young blood elf.

"Sport," he used to say (he called him Sport simply because "Sporticus" took too much time to say and people were always looking for ways to shorten names), "Remember that true virtue is found in helping those around you." He had recalled those words many times throughout his time on Uther, and those were the words he carried with him to this new world. Firechief surely lived out what he believed, and Sport often recalled the useful items that Fire (as he called him) had helped him acquire in their time together. He thoughtfully reached down and felt the edges of his tabard- a present long ago from Fire. Before he had left home it had been a bright red with a yellow sun in the middle of it. That had been the symbol of his group- The Bandits. The yellow and red combination had always brought a warmth into his heart and made him feel happy. For some reason, though, the tabard only looked a dull grey as it hung over his armor. He had no idea when this happened and wondered how this item could have changed colors so drastically without him noticing it.

His thoughts were cut short as he heard the cries of fighting in the distance. It pulled him out of his absentmindedness and immediately had him at the ready. He was always one who loved a good fight, so he broke out into a run seeking to follow the cries of those at war. The mystery of the tabard would have to wait.

As he ran through the twists and turns of the crags of Durotar, he tried to prepare himself for battle as best as he could. It took him only a moment to recall the blessing for wisdom that he needed as a healer, and he quickly applied it to himself as he ran along. The seal of light, however, was more elusive. He could recall the beginning but forgot how it ended. The seals of wisdom and light sounded so much alike that sometimes the exact wording got criss-crossed. He knew unless he got it right it would not work for him, so he applied what was left of his mental exertion into remembering the proper wording. He hoped he would not have to stop to consult his spellbook to find the right words- that would be too much of a time loss.

Just as he was sure he had the wording down, he was thrown to the ground by a rather large object slamming into his shoulder. It took him a moment to recover from being dazed by such a large hit. As he glanced around from his position on the ground, he saw what appeared to be a rather boxy figure lying on its back near him. In a moment he knew it- it was a dwarf. His lips moved into a snarl as he recognized the form of this hated member of what was called the "Alliance" splayed out on the ground next to him.

Immediately he began to wonder- dwarves weren't known for their excellent jumping and leaping abilities, so how had this one come slamming into him with such great force? He stood a good two feet taller than his much stouter opponent, so for any dwarf to come crashing into him at shoulder height was a miracle to be witnessed. He would shortly become aware of his answer.

As he rushed to his feet, Sport saw the originator of the war cries that he came to help. A few feet from him in an passage in the crags, an orc and a human were in mortal combat. From the looks of it, the warrior was holding his ground well against the human. They matched each other blow for blow and neither seemed to be getting the upper hand. From their armor and weapons they both looked like warriors- and tanks at that. This would be a long fight if the dwarf stayed down.

The dwarf! As he was mesmerized by the fight raging in front of him, he had completely forgotten about his projectile assailant. As he turned around, he saw the dwarf fumbling to his feet. It was hard for ones so short and stocky to get up after being knocked down- but knocking them over was no small task itself. From the mail it was wearing he deduced it was a hunter, but he could find no sign of its pet anywhere.

As the dwarf grumbled in some foreign tongue as it staggered to its feet, Sport quickly rushed into action. He threw his hammer of justice at the dwarf and immediately saw him fall on his butt, stunned. He had gained a few precious moments to help those in need, unhindered. That takes care of that, he thought, and he quickly rushed over to aid in the warrior's duel.

As he ran to the orc warrior he quickly called upon the Light to bless the orc with might. He then threw a large heal on the orc, mending his wounds and restoring him to near full vigor. The orc roared with laughter.

"About time someone showed up!" he grunted. He slammed his shield into the human, knocking him over. He turned to the blood elf and said, "Hurry up and help me finish these two Alliance dirt bags off."

"I already threw a stun on that dwarf, so let's get rid of this human," Sport replied. The orc nodded and brought his axe down on the human, rending his body armor loose. The blood elf brought the power of the Light down upon their opponent with fierce force in judgment. The orc added a quick strike to the head and a thunder clap, and with that the human was dead.

Finally coming out of his stunned state, the dwarf rushed backed to the fight. Seeing his friend dead and knowing he too would soon be fertilizing the fields of Durotar, he turned and fled as quickly as his little stubby legs would carry him. Sport and the orc could not help but laugh as they saw their assailant turn tail and run away. They would not have to worry about their human opponent either, as it was doubtful he would try to resurrect and assail them now that his two to one advantage had turned against him.

"I never get tired of killing Alliance," the orc said. "They are a waste of space as far as I'm concerned. Nothing but a bunch of cowards and little boys in men's armor."

"Too true," Sport replied as he cracked open his water reserve and gulped down a mouthful. He looked in his bags and then over at the orc and said, "I've got some food in here if you're hungry."

"Nah, I'm feeling good," was the orc's response. As Sport took the time to actually look at him, he noticed that, unlike many orcs, this one was bald. And it wasn't a "ring of hair around the head" bald- it was a bald bald. No hair whatsoever. He could even see the sun glistening off the sweat on his head. Gross, Sport thought to himself.

The orc seemed oblivious to the blood elf's visual assessment. "I'm on my way to Org (or "Orgrimmar" as it was more commonly known) if you'd like to come along. Could use a healer like you along the way." Sport couldn't help but notice there was something strange in the orc's voice. It was an accent he had never heard before and it gave the orc's words a funny drawl. It was almost like he was speaking in slow motion.

Shaking off this thought, Sport nodded in agreement and they two began to make their way back to the road that led to Orgrimmar. It would not be a tough journey, barring any other Alliance who decided to ambush them along the way. Still, a healer and a tank would be more than enough for anyone to handle, and from what Sport could tell the warrior he was now in the company of was no slouch. He seemed to be both unnaturally strong and quick- characteristics that were common in orcs, but not to the degree that this one had. In any event, Sport was glad he had made a friend.

A few moments later Sport let out a sigh and said, "I'm sorry, I've completely forgotten my manners. I'm Sporticus, I'm new here and I come from Utherrealm." He held out his right hand to formally greet his green companion.

The orc gave a glance to the outstretched hand and then looked wryly at his travelling companion. He hefted his axe upon his shoulder and continued on the journey. After a moment he said, "I've been here a while. A long while."

He walked on for a bit more and then said, "I've got a name, but no one around here uses it anymore. They all just call me Bigg. Biggmean."

Sport nodded in acknowledgement, and before long they arrived at Orgrimmar.