After watching the Warcraft movie, it was clear that mages are pretty useless once their mouth is covered (Having played mage myself, I personally hate everyone who is capable of silence spells…) and since I love helpless characters, it was too much of an invitation :3
But beware! There's some nasty stuff ahead, because I´m a sick motherfucker. No, really, I mean it. Go ahead and read the
Warnings: detailed depictions of violence and rape, enslavement, bondage, torture, angst, gore, and a lot of Khadgar-whumping.
So if you're sensitive about any of the above, please turn back.
Pairing will be Gul'dan/Khadgar and Lothar/Khadgar. Story also contains Durotan/Khadgar fluff.
Chapter warnings: None.
So enjoy this story while you can. Updates will be coming whenever I manage, so don't expect too much. Not beta-ed.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
The assembled crowd became silent when the charred forearm fell to the ground and crumbled into smoldering pieces upon the impact. In the next moment, Blackhand was down on his knees, grunting and breathing through the pain of having his arm chopped off by Durotan.
"You dare interrupt this judgement?" Gul'dan questioned unbelievingly, his grip tightening around his staff at the outrageous display of disobedience. The warrior better had a good reason to intervene so boldly.
"We fought hard," Durotan defended his action, turning around and standing up to the intimidating orc. There was something he needed to make known. "Their warlock used your fel against us."
"Only I can control the fel!" Gul'dan bellowed, eyes flaring up a dangerous green at the ridiculous statement, and approached the rebellious warrior with fast strides. The fel's vicious energy radiated from his body, causing the surrounding orcs to recline in pain, but not Durotan - though he did take a step back.
Regaining his composure, the old warlock opted for another strategy. "I see you and your man have survived. Perhaps Blackhand," he gestured at the warrior of the Blackrock clan, "kept you safely away from the battlefield?" Gul'dan watched the other's reactions closely. "Maybe he knows you´re weak, too," he added after a moment, further provoking the leader of the Frostwolf clan.
Durotan reacted just in time to hold back his second-in-command by placing a hand over his chest, keeping him from advancing. He had already done enough harm and it would be foolish to anger the warlock any further.
Gul'dan craned his neck, scrutinizing the orc with slightly glowing eyes. "Do you wish to challenge me, little chieftain?" he inquired, his voice deep in his throat as he leaned closer to emphasize his words. Maybe it was wiser to dispose of the rioting warrior sooner than he had anticipated.
Taking his time to respond, Durotan looked around, stepping back uncertainly. He knew that his chances in winning against the warlock were close to zero and the stakes were unbearable high. "I do not question Gul'dan," he spoke after another moment, "but the fel is born of death. Must have a price."
"Ah," Gul´dan breathed, noting the other's change in attitude, and spread his arms in an explanation, "a price paid in lives taken." He could see that the chieftain was now struggling to uphold eye contact, his posture shifting into one of obedience as the seeds of doubt that had been planted into his heart blossomed. Pleased, Gul'dan decided to forgive the chieftain his little slip. Actually, he felt a certain curiosity himself.
Lifting his hand to stroke his beard, Gul'dan hummed, his evaluating gaze resting on both Durotan and Blackhand. "Fine, I will grant you a chance to prove your claim right. Bring me their warlock and I am willing to see for myself, their so-called fel..."