Originally posted on aff 2010-01-31 - 2011-10-02

One

"That was a cheap shot," complained Mardruk, "and you know it."

Goran Brokentooth gazed at his young companion with expressionless, bloodshot yellow eyes. The old orc warrior calmly cleaned his blade of blood and looked from Mardruk to the body of the quillboar that lay still quivering not far from where the pair sat. Finally, Goran heaved a sigh. "It would have gored you, left you to convalesce for days. I didn't want to listen to your bitching."

Mardruk frowned heavily. The young apprentice warrior sat by and sulked, massive arms crossed over an equally massive chest. The violet-eyed orc felt slighted by his master, knowing his death would have been honourable even if it were against a lowly quillboar and not something from the Alliance. But Goran was right, as usual, for Mardruk was still young and stupid. The old orc had fought for Thrall during the time the young Warchief was working to free his people, and was a veteran. Especially when he dealt with foolish young apprentices.

"What did you do wrong?"

"What?"

Goran rolled his bloodshot eyes. "What did you do wrong?" he repeated, spacing out his words. Mardruk frowned, knowing the elder orc was making fun of him by speaking as if he were a simple-minded child.

The young orc narrowed his violet eyes. "I engaged prematurely." He said at last. "I left myself open to a counter attack that would have killed me."

Goran stroked his beard and nodded slightly. "What else?"

Mardruk ground his teeth. "And I didn't look to see if it had reinforcements."

The old veteran nodded again. "If you were alone, you'd be dead, boy. I know how the bloodlust sings in your veins; I've felt it too. But we live in an uneasy time where that need to fight can begin another war." Goran paused to take a breath, eyeing his young pupil intently. "Being a warrior is our natural calling, but only the smart ones survive to reach my age."

"But isn't it better to die in battle than from old age?" Mardruk asked, standing up as Goran did. Goran looked at the younger orc with a strange gaze. The old warrior shook his head and sighed.

"You'll understand when you're older. Sometimes there's honour in dying old." Goran said. "Especially when your students are the ones who will live on in your name and their victories bring their dead teacher honour as well as themselves."

Mardruk frowned and slid his heavy broadsword into its sheath, picking up the heavy pack Goran forced him to carry around. Builds muscle. The old orc had said. Builds endurance. Mardruk rolled his violet eyes and hurried after his master as they headed deeper into the Barrens. The dry heat didn't bother Mardruk as much as it had before they had set out on this journey from Orgrimmar to the Barrens. He figured he was making progress then, at least with endurance. Fighting was another thing entirely. Mardruk was the top of his class, and he'd prided himself with that achievement because it had gotten him noticed by Goran Brokentooth, the old veteran warrior who rarely took on an apprentice if at all. Mardruk had certainly been riding a narcissistic high when Goran had pointed at him that day two months ago.

Then he learned (quickly) how much of an idiot he really was.

Goran's first test frustrated Mardruk to the point the young orc had almost run his master through. And Goran had beat Mardruk's ass hard enough to make the young warrior see stars dancing across his vision as his brain played the part of the ball hitting the walls of his skull.

So Mardruk sucked it up and worked hard to learn hard, becoming what Goran forced him to be: a smart warrior.

Unfortunately, things like the incident with the quillboar just proved that Mardruk still had a long, long way to go.

The young orc grunted and picked up his pace, walking quickly to catch up to his master, that heavy pack bouncing against his spine. Mardruk had been in the Barrens before, once on a scouting mission and once to collect some of those stupid peacebloom flowers for some potion or another, but the dry, scrubby land still managed to amaze him. Mardruk had never been far from Durotar, never far from the Barrens. He knew that to the north lay Ashenvale where the Night Elves lived and to the south was Thousand Needles where Tauren frequented, probably in order to murder the centaur that made up most of the land's population. Mardruk had seen Night Elves before, and had openly stared at them as much as they stared at him. The tall, muscular elves had been wandering through Durotar when Mardruk had been a whelp. What happened to them, Mardruk never knew.

His violet eyes glanced around their surroundings, almost expecting a quillboar to come at him to avenge its companion. He saw dry plains, scrubby rocks, and golden twiggy bushes that gave shade to the lions that slept beneath them. He saw an assortment of wildlife and other flora, but none of that set off his need to fight. He'd gotten better at controlling the bloodlust, fighting to keep a cool head like Goran had forced him to learn, but Mardruk was still only in his early twenties – he was allowed to make mistakes. Mardruk sucked on a tooth and frowned. Mistakes could get him killed, Mardruk mused. So no, he decided, he wasn't allowed to make mistakes, even if his stupidity and his youth made the mistakes for him.

Goran stopped short and gestured for Mardruk to halt as well. The young orc gazed at his master strangely but obeyed, drawing his broadsword just in case. Goran's bloodshot eyes were focused on the road below them, his hand around the hilt of his own broadsword as he drew himself up a little taller. Mardruk, curious as ever, peeked around the veteran's shoulders and looked down at the same road that was causing Goran to act so strangely.

Down below the pair of orc rode a group of ten warriors, dressed in shiny silver armour. Each rode a magnificent horse, the animals draped in all sorts of finery. Mardruk felt disgust, wondering why these warriors were making such a show of themselves, displaying themselves so easily for an enemy. Goran grabbed his arm and shook his head.

"Learn from them, Mardruk." Goran whispered. "They are confident, and they are numerous. These are human knights, probably from Stormwind itself. We would be fools to engage them." He gestured to one of the ten, forcing Mardruk to focus. "That one is probably a paladin. He would sooner kill you than speak with you. Pray they haven't seen us, and we'll go around."

"Why are you afraid of some tiny human?" Mardruk asked, a little louder than he intended.

Goran looked at him sharply. "Afraid? I'm not afraid. From where I stand, I see ten human warriors. I am only one orc. I may be able to slay one or two, maybe even three, but that still leaves at least seven that can stab me in the back before I even realize my death is upon me. A death like that is not honourable. If I can avoid such a fight, especially a fight I will most definitely lose, then I will avoid it."

"But–" Mardruk's reply, probably harsh and vindictive, was cut off as the humans finally noticed the pair of orc arguing with each other on the rise. Mardruk's eyes went wide as those great swords were unsheathed and the humans put their heels to their horses' flanks, making the animals charge the two green-skinned warriors.

Goran let out a large, loud curse, then bellowed a battle cry that shook Mardruk's bones. The horses, well-trained as they were, were not used to the noises an orc could make and shied, slowing their masters' pace by just enough. Goran took Mardruk's broadsword as well as his own and turned to face their attackers. "Go, boy! Run!"

"I'm not running from this!" Mardruk snarled. Goran's red eyes bored into his own violet ones and Mardruk felt for the first time fear as Goran snarled at him.

"You will run. You will survive. You must return to Orgrimmar and tell them everything you've seen." Goran gave Mardruk a hard shove back the way they came. "Go! Go, whelp, ere I kill you where you stand!"

Mardruk snarled in reply, but the first of the human soldiers had come upon Goran. The human had no chance against the old veteran's swinging blade, the horse screaming as its legs were cut from it with the sword in the left hand and its rider was introduced to the sword in the right. Mardruk cursed and bolted away from his master, feeling like a terrible coward. He heard pursuit and put his head down, forcing his legs to carry him away from the battle he should have participated in.