Harry awoke suddenly, as if an alarm had been set off inside him. The events of the previous day came rushing back to him, and he sighed. He yawned and put his feet on the floor, still groggy. In his room, a beautiful blue robe had been laid upon a chair, along with a travelling sack and a small amount of gold coins (Harry was relieved to find them tiny and compact compared to the enormous Galleons he knew) and after availing himself of the inn's facilites, Harry departed his room. Alexstrasza had told him to seek out Rhonin, friend to the dragons and ruler of the Kirin Tor, the council of mages that presided over Dalaran. The innkeeper kindly directed Harry to the tallest spire in Dalaran, but he had barely set foot outside the Hero's Rest before a burly, green-skinned orc making his way through the city streets nearly ran Harry over.

Harry was less than pleased. He had never seen an orc, much less met one, but Alexstrasza had told him that they considered humans mortal enemies. He also knew that Dalaran was a sanctuary, where factions were not permitted to harm one another, but that did not stop him from feeling angry.

"Throm ka!" snarled the orc and drawing a sword. "Watch where you're going, human!"

"Sorry," muttered Harry, not at all sorry; the way he saw it, the orc owed -him- an apology.

"Hmph," growled the orc. "Next time I won't be so merciful. You're lucky I'm in such a forgiving mood today."

This is forgiving? thought Harry. I'd hate to see him in a bad mood.

The orc grunted and sheathed his sword. "Still. Perhaps I was a bit...careless. But no harm, no foul."

"Right," said Harry. He made to continue on the street, but the orc clapped him on the shoulder. "Come, human. The Ledgerdemain Lounge has some of the finest spirits in Northrend, and it's a place where we can both relax without worrying about guards or spies. I'll buy a round and we can share battle stories. I don't take no for an answer."

Harry didn't particularly feel like having a drink that early in the morning, but the orc looked like he could pick Harry up and drag him wherever he wanted. Reluctantly, Harry nodded. The orc laughed, a low, hearty guffaw. "I thought you'd see it that way."

Harry had to admit, the pints of mulled cider were delicious, and he was relaxed and starting to enjoy himself. He was careful not to divulge where he had come from or his true mission, but Negragh, as the orc was called, didn't press him for the details of his stories, only the highlights.

"I tell ya, human, there ain't much more to life than this," said Negragh, after Harry had lost count of the number of tankards of ale the orc had downed. "I'm a free spirit, yanno? I take whatever work I can get, and I get all the loot and coin I can carry."

"So...you're a mercenary," said Harry. He was wondering how much longer the orc was going to demand his attention; his mission was paramount.

Negragh nodded. "I tried bein' a respectable member of society once. Used to be a banker. Liked bein' around all that money; didn't like how none of it was mine. So I cut out and been wandering the lands ever since."

"Don't you ever get lonely?" asked Harry, only slightly interested.

The orc pondered for a moment. "Well, now. Sometimes I do go for days without seeing another orc. I...suppose it might be nice to have a companion to warm my camp with. She'd have to be awfully tough, though. My age, too. I got a nice little bit of money saved up; one of these days I'm going to retire, and I'll want to settle down and have a family then."

Harry absent-mindedly stirred his drink, not really caring about Negragh's love life, or lack thereof. "Do you miss being around other orcs?" asked Harry vaguely.

Negragh drained the last of his mug and banged it down on the table. "Of course! Wish there were more of us out there, living off the land, surviving on our wits, just us against the wilds. Nothing like it, human, nothing like it. Every swing of the blade, every crush of the hammer, every arrow in a bow brings us all together as brothers and sisters. We're tied together through our weapons."

The orc surveyed Harry. "Do you know that our children are taught to fight as soon as they can hold a weapon? It ain't because we're savagesl, human. Strength and honor define orcs. We don't go looking for fights; we go looking for honor, and the fights come to us. Lot of humans don't realize how important that is, even to them, and that's why there's so many petty squabbles everywhere. Me, I don't get involved in all that. Out in the wilderness, an orc lives by his blade or he dies by it." He reached in his travelsack and removed a small handaxe, suitable for a small teenager or a large child.

"I got this for my first-born right here," beamed Negragh. Harry inspected the axe. It was delicately crafted, with a razor-sharp stone blade and a dark wooden handle lashed around the blade with vine.

"That's very- very nice," offered Harry. "Did you make it?"

"Me? No way. I'm not that good with my hands. I picked this up off some poor troll I found frozen to death in a snowdrift. Fella didn't need it anymore, so I gave him a few coins and took it. Didn't want his spirit comin' after me, hauntin' me for years. Trolls will be trolls."

Harry wondered at the orc's words. The weapon was a symbol of orc brotherhood and strength; pretty much any weapon would be. He cleared his throat.

"What would you take in exchange for that?"

The orc waved his hand, dismissing Harry. "Ah, you can have it. I can always get another one. 'Slong as I got Thalla, I'm okay."

"Thalla?"

The orc nodded. "You met her already." He patted his side where his sword hilt was hanging down. "I'd die before I let anything happen to her."

Negrugh slid the handaxe across the table to Harry, who took it gingerly. It felt light in his hand, but it seemed to be balanced well. This could be exactly what I need, thought Harry. He nodded in appreciation and put the handaxe in his pack. He was about to thank Negragh when he noticed that the orc was slumped over, snoring loudly on the table; evidently twenty-two was his limit. He quietly crept out of the bar, not wanting to be stuck with an enormous tab; he didn't think the small amount of coins he had on hand would cover unnecessary tavern visits. Inhaling deeply, he strode down the street and approached the tall tower where the Kirin Tor operated.