Disclaimer: I do not own WarCraft. Wish I did.
Few Explanations: I'm writing the trolls talking like I hear them, I'm not bashing anyone's way of speaking. And unless the orcs have a really weird way of reproducing, then there have to be orc women.
~
Fyren had no time to weep for her husband, Durotan. He lay, dead, on the ground, pierced with knives from assassins. Fyren kept running, her black hair clinging to her green skin, pale with starvation and sickness, holding her infant close to her chest protectively.
Her boots pounded furiously on the ground as she ran. The infant was silent through the ordeal. The troll assassins were in the trees of the frozen wilds, following her closely, itching for her blood. Fyren knew their orders. Seek out and kill the chieftain of the Frostwolf clan, along with his family.
Fyren ducked behind a large rock, hoping the assassins would give up the chase and continue when they could. Even those cold-hearted killers would have to rest.
As Fyren waited, her heart in her throat, she instinctively held her child closer to her. The trolls were being paid an enormous sum of gold for their deaths by Gul'dan, that damned shaman. He had exiled their clan, and now he wanted Durotan's head on a platter, along with hers. Durotan's head was theirs, but hers and her child's they would never have, she had sworn it.
Fyren heard the trolls grunt and speak as she kept behind the rock.
"She not commin' out. I say we sleep." A roar of agreement met the statement.
Fyren breathed a sigh of relief. She could finally escape their torment. For two weeks, she, Durotan, and her infant had been chased down by the troll assassins after a raid on the Frostwolf settlement. Durotan had kept up a good fight, killing a few and wounding many. He had killed a troll who had tried to kill their child but the troll ended up wounding Fyren on her left. But it was winter, and he had fallen ill. The trolls had taken advantage of his pitiful condition, killing him while they were resting.
Waiting a few minutes for them to sleep, she began to crawl out from behind the rock. Moving silently, still clutching her babe to her breast, she began a run. The child she hadn't even named was her only comfort in the frozen wilds.
Fyren stopped, peeling a piece of hair away from her face. Turning to make sure she was safe, she came face to face with one of the trolls. The troll staggered back after Fyren's fist connected with his jaw. The orc woman was running, boots pounding.
Fyren realized in her condition, there was no hope for her. But she still ran. Running blindly, hand made into fist as her only weapon, she shielded her child with her body. Thinking furiously while she ran, she recognized where she was, near the fortress of Aedelas Blackmoore. Her native tribe had lived near there; she had married into the Frostwolf clan. She had heard that human was interested in orcs. Looking down at her now crying child, that was his only ticket to freedom.
Following her own knowledge of the forest here, she started to stumble. Her senses had been blinded by her struggle for survival. Now she clearly felt the pain of hunger, her tired feet aching, and the wound in her left side throbbing painfully.
Suddenly, she fell to the ground. Looking around her wearily, she saw a human on a horse riding along the path she had collapsed on. She had landed on her wound, the pain throbbing through her weak body.
The human had a crossbow, with which he slew the two trolls that were following there. Riding up to the fallen orc, he looked down.
"Are...you..Aedelas?" Fyren's voice was weak, and it was now strange to her.
"Yes."
With her last remaining shred of strength, she held up her infant. "Take him...his father is dead...you raise him..." Fyren's arms fell like they were dead after Aedelas picked up the child.
"I swear, my lady, on my honor." Aedelas clapped his hand over his heart as he held the orc babe.
"You name him...I want to hear his name..."
Aedelas looked at the child as Fyren waited, her breathing harsh and ragged. "Thrall."
"Thrall....avenge your father...." Fyren's voice was halting, but she screeched out the last few words. Aedelas rode off, leaving the half-dead orc woman. A moment later, the rest of the troll assassins, wanting to find their comrades, found them dead and looked at Fyren, lying pitifully on the ground. A troll went over to her, ready to slay her. She began to laugh. An eerie laugh, as if she had gone insane in her dying moments.
"Where da child?"
"Gone..." Fyren's eerie laugh filled the air again. Turning onto her back, the troll drove his blade through her neck, killing her quicker than the frozen wilds would. And so Fyren, wife of Durotan, mother of Thrall, a woman of the Frostwolf clan slipped into the peace of death.
~
Like? Love? Hate to death and want to pound it with a stick? (In that case, why the hell did you read it?) Click review. Please.
Few Explanations: I'm writing the trolls talking like I hear them, I'm not bashing anyone's way of speaking. And unless the orcs have a really weird way of reproducing, then there have to be orc women.
~
Fyren had no time to weep for her husband, Durotan. He lay, dead, on the ground, pierced with knives from assassins. Fyren kept running, her black hair clinging to her green skin, pale with starvation and sickness, holding her infant close to her chest protectively.
Her boots pounded furiously on the ground as she ran. The infant was silent through the ordeal. The troll assassins were in the trees of the frozen wilds, following her closely, itching for her blood. Fyren knew their orders. Seek out and kill the chieftain of the Frostwolf clan, along with his family.
Fyren ducked behind a large rock, hoping the assassins would give up the chase and continue when they could. Even those cold-hearted killers would have to rest.
As Fyren waited, her heart in her throat, she instinctively held her child closer to her. The trolls were being paid an enormous sum of gold for their deaths by Gul'dan, that damned shaman. He had exiled their clan, and now he wanted Durotan's head on a platter, along with hers. Durotan's head was theirs, but hers and her child's they would never have, she had sworn it.
Fyren heard the trolls grunt and speak as she kept behind the rock.
"She not commin' out. I say we sleep." A roar of agreement met the statement.
Fyren breathed a sigh of relief. She could finally escape their torment. For two weeks, she, Durotan, and her infant had been chased down by the troll assassins after a raid on the Frostwolf settlement. Durotan had kept up a good fight, killing a few and wounding many. He had killed a troll who had tried to kill their child but the troll ended up wounding Fyren on her left. But it was winter, and he had fallen ill. The trolls had taken advantage of his pitiful condition, killing him while they were resting.
Waiting a few minutes for them to sleep, she began to crawl out from behind the rock. Moving silently, still clutching her babe to her breast, she began a run. The child she hadn't even named was her only comfort in the frozen wilds.
Fyren stopped, peeling a piece of hair away from her face. Turning to make sure she was safe, she came face to face with one of the trolls. The troll staggered back after Fyren's fist connected with his jaw. The orc woman was running, boots pounding.
Fyren realized in her condition, there was no hope for her. But she still ran. Running blindly, hand made into fist as her only weapon, she shielded her child with her body. Thinking furiously while she ran, she recognized where she was, near the fortress of Aedelas Blackmoore. Her native tribe had lived near there; she had married into the Frostwolf clan. She had heard that human was interested in orcs. Looking down at her now crying child, that was his only ticket to freedom.
Following her own knowledge of the forest here, she started to stumble. Her senses had been blinded by her struggle for survival. Now she clearly felt the pain of hunger, her tired feet aching, and the wound in her left side throbbing painfully.
Suddenly, she fell to the ground. Looking around her wearily, she saw a human on a horse riding along the path she had collapsed on. She had landed on her wound, the pain throbbing through her weak body.
The human had a crossbow, with which he slew the two trolls that were following there. Riding up to the fallen orc, he looked down.
"Are...you..Aedelas?" Fyren's voice was weak, and it was now strange to her.
"Yes."
With her last remaining shred of strength, she held up her infant. "Take him...his father is dead...you raise him..." Fyren's arms fell like they were dead after Aedelas picked up the child.
"I swear, my lady, on my honor." Aedelas clapped his hand over his heart as he held the orc babe.
"You name him...I want to hear his name..."
Aedelas looked at the child as Fyren waited, her breathing harsh and ragged. "Thrall."
"Thrall....avenge your father...." Fyren's voice was halting, but she screeched out the last few words. Aedelas rode off, leaving the half-dead orc woman. A moment later, the rest of the troll assassins, wanting to find their comrades, found them dead and looked at Fyren, lying pitifully on the ground. A troll went over to her, ready to slay her. She began to laugh. An eerie laugh, as if she had gone insane in her dying moments.
"Where da child?"
"Gone..." Fyren's eerie laugh filled the air again. Turning onto her back, the troll drove his blade through her neck, killing her quicker than the frozen wilds would. And so Fyren, wife of Durotan, mother of Thrall, a woman of the Frostwolf clan slipped into the peace of death.
~
Like? Love? Hate to death and want to pound it with a stick? (In that case, why the hell did you read it?) Click review. Please.