Stars coated the blackness of the sky with a peculiar sparkle. Everything in the world is strange to me now thought Eitrigg many wars have tainted my mind. Eitrigg was a good Orc, serving his clan, bringing honor and glory to the Horde, but all was not well within him. He felt strange, unsatisfied with life perhaps. The hoots and hollering of the young warriors entered the still air, interrupting his dark thoughts. A green skinned shaman approached him, hailing him with all the respect a veteran deserves.
"Lok'tar Eitrigg. Are you alright old one, you seem troubled?"
"He's probably goin senile mon, ya know what old age can do." Everyone had a good laugh to that, even Eitrigg, he had gotten used to the jives of the young warriors and new how to respond.
"I'm still young enough to remember you owe me a drink Majinx. How many times did I save you in the valley? Two or was it three?" Eitrigg replied gesturing his two comrades into the nearby inn and after a few grumbles of protest Majinx obliged, fetching the three of them flagons of mead. The three warriors shared their tales of glory throughout the night while drinking in tribute to the Horde…
It seems my liver is still as strong as my Breastplate Eitrigg mused to himself with a chuckle, as he carried both his young friends to vacant beds upstairs. With the night growing ever darker, the old Orc returned to his lodgings. Pushing the oaken door open, Eitrigg made his way upstairs and into his room. There on the bed his war gear, in all its glory, was displayed. The shining steel sparkled like the stars outside and the memories of years of glorious warfare flowed through him seemingly taking him over. Eitrigg revelled in it, drawing his sword from its scabbard, he swiped at an old memory of a foe, felling him in that one swift motion.
However, his mind began to play drinks on him. The human foe that had fallen to the ground suddenly began to morph, twist and change. His son lay before him, sliced open from shoulder to waist. The grief struck him like the blacksmith hits hot metal, jolting his mind with a shock. Tears welled in his eyes as he cast his vision down to the broken body of his kin.
"O tainted brew!" he cried "What are these fiendish visions you curse me with? What demonic work is this?" Eitrigg stepped back, releasing the sword from his grip and it crashed powerfully into the cold floor. He dropped to his knees, as if bested in combat and surrendered to the sorrow, weeping silently into his hands. Great shame fell upon his shoulders I should have protected them better he thought to himself no father should outlive his sons and it suddenly occurred to him, the valour and vigour in which he battled for the Horde, was actually compensating for the things he had lost. Suddenly a voice of reason entered his mind, none other than his 'blood' brother Tirion Fording began to speak to him.
"It is the curse of the veteran Eitrigg. To relieve the failures of the past even if they are far outnumbered by success." Tirion's voice shocked Eitrigg back into sense and he inquired
"Where are you brother? Come into the light, so that I may see reason." Eitrigg was slightly afraid of what many mortals his age began to fear- his own state of mind. Though he soon realised that he was alone with his sorrows, Tirion's voice was merely a memory, an apparition of reason or falsehood Eitrigg thought does it simply offer me reason for my continued existence? Eitrigg's gaze shifted now from his horrid visions to his sword, the beacon of his honour, his glory, his life. He stared at the sword, its shine blinded him as he picked it up, gently caressing it like one would a lover.
"Perhaps one last tour of gore, old friend. We shall see if reason trumps sorrow…."