Finding Unity
Rewrote and retconned by: Dimitri Liwen
Preface:
Orcs and humans can interbreed, and in this union create half-orcs. Humans and orcs have been enemies for decades and half-orcs represent something both races prefer not to think about. The half-orcs' genesis is usually violent and perverse, and their appearance — too bestial to be human and too clean to be orc — reminds the parent races of the rift between them and the horrible deeds each has performed on the other. Thus, most humans and orcs ignore half-orcs. Other races are little better, as the human-orc conflict is only one facet of the Alliance-Horde tensions upon which no one likes to dwell. Conversely, some see half-orcs as symbols of unity. Not all half-orcs are born to abused or victimized parents; some are the children of clandestine love. Perhaps half-orcs represent what could be accomplished if the races put aside their differences and lived in peace. After all, if humans and orcs, with their history of hatred and bloodshed and wildly different origins, can produce viable offspring, perhaps the races are not as different as they think.
Half-orcs face mixed reactions. Even more so than half-elves, half-orcs are the targets of rage and derision brought about by is a violent place and tensions thrum like taut wires. The Third War lives in recent memory, and most humans and orcs lost loved ones at the hands of the other side. Half-orcs find little welcome, though the situation is better in the larger, more enlightened settlements.
Unlike half-elves, who prefer to wander or blend in to avoid prejudice, half-orcs are vocal, daring, and foolishly brave. A product of their parent races' pride, courage, and ferocity, half-orcs refuse to accept bias lightly. They demand attention. Half-orcs commit to audacious dares and acts of suicidal bravery to prove their worth to their parent races. Occasionally they succeed.
Prologue: The Betrayal
The clouds hovering above the once sunny plateau of the Elwynn Waterfall were now violent, and depressing. On this dark night, a human paladin, named Varkaan Kesh, rode from his scenic house on top of the waterfall, to the far-reaching Three Roads, near the entrance to the Redridge Mountains, where he met a robed figure, and handed a certain, bumping satchel to him.
"Take care of him, Lucien, if I am to see him as a man, I will want it to be of fair heritage", Varkaan grimly ordered.
"Of course, Captain Kesh, I will take him to my safe haven, and I'll ensure his safety", Lucien said, smiling warmly at the baby that his Captain had handed him.
"He means everything to me, Lucien; don't forget that… if only she knew the same…" Varkaan said, looking down at the baby, who wasn't crying, but was giggling happily, at the sight of his father.
"I must leave, or else the people of the order will catch me, and detain me for leaving abruptly… come now little boy", Lucien cooed.
"His name is Laiken", Varkaan asserted.
"Laiken, let's take our leave", Lucien said, mounting his charger and heading off in to the dark night that blanketed the land in uncertainty.
Varkaan merely shuddered, and tightened his cloak for the windy ride back through the wet forests back to his hovel. The rainy wind whipped at his face, causing him to flinch, and the howling of the wolves in their dens made him shudder harder, as the rain began to let up, and the pale sunlight showed throughout the mountains of the southern kingdom.
Varkaan headed up the familiar path to his home, and wiped his bearded face of the rain that had struck him, even in his helmet. Something unnerved him, however. He frantically searched his grounds for something out of the ordinary, but found nothing, so he approached his hovel, and entered it, slowly, not letting his guard down.
His house, though small, was still very polished on the inside, and thus, this made him look rich, and feel safe when rainstorms like that occurred over the Kingdom of Stormwind. He walked over to a chair, and fell asleep in it for a few hours, before being awoken by the sounds of a horse whining outside.
"What's bothering Darkfall now?" Varkaan pondered to himself, as he slowly rose up, rubbing his eyes and face, and walking outside.
To his shock, Darkfall lay slain, by a single arrow shot to the neck, and her body was bleeding out onto the grass, discoloring it with a shade of crimson red. Varkaan let out a distinguished cry, before he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a leather-clad figure, wielding two glowing blades in his hands.
"I guess this was going to happen sooner or later, wasn't it?" Varkaan grimaced.
Not wanting to waste time, Varkaan laid his weapons on the ground, and waited for a preemptive strike. Nothing happened, so Varkaan looked behind him, and saw the person staring like something had gone wrong.
"I know you're an assassin… but what you're looking for isn't here, I told Donald that… he'll never take my son, not when I'm still breathing, my son, regardless of his "offensive" heritage, will not be harmed… neither will she. Strike me now, assassin. I can show the paladins of my lifetime I was not afraid, not afraid to die, and become a martyr for my son, and my wife, do it", Varkaan said, breathing heavily.
Varkaan now was on his knees, his hands resting on the back of his head, tears rolling down his strong face.
The assassin didn't waste time, and took a well coordinated slash into Varkaan's backside, puncturing his kidneys and liver. The next blow came from the offhand blade, which went right through the back of his right lung. Varkaan breathed his last breath, and looked directly into the eyes of his assassin, who had now taken off his mask to reveal a familiar face.
"You always were pathetic", the assassin said.
"Donald… will not win this time, Ironheart, he will not have this day, or my… son", Varkaan spat out, blood pouring from his mouth.
"Pity your death will go down as dishonorable…" Ironheart said with an ungrateful tone.
…
Young Lucien Hartshire had reached his destination, 6 days after the tragic death of Varkaan Kesh. That destination was a peculiar place, located a few miles off of the northern shores of Kalimdor. The sun was plentiful there, as well as the safety for the people he went to meet. It was a walled city, built on a small island, where trees grew like grass, and the people were as friendly as one could wish for.
Lucien delivered the baby to the godparents that Varkaan had instructed him to be left with. He knocked on a door, which was a part of many houses that were lined up, made of white stone, and fashioned together by clay and metal, and a face lit up when he saw the baby that the young paladin had given him.