Sham stifled a yawn as she trotted down one of the less familiar streets of Orgrimmar. She knew every inch of the Valleys of Honor and Strength, yet the residential section of Orgrimmar felt like a foreign city. She and Gore lived near the edge of the 'neighborhood', as Sethyl had called it in passing.

The further in they went, the closer the buildings became. This street's huts were almost on top of one another. Even the shops in the Drag felt like they had more space.

The peon-esque guide for their group motioned to one of the huts and led them over. Wrachette was tending the shop today, while Tizzle, Sprocket, and Cloudless perused the housing market. Though Cloudless had already settled for something nearer to Sham's home, the goblins were being shrewd with their coin, insisting on seeing cheaper realty.

Sham squeezed Gore's hand as she looked about. She couldn't rightly say why the two of them were there. She'd offered to cover the shop in Wrachette's stead, but the goblin had been hell-bent on earning some coin. The trio was driven, if nothing else.

Tizzle had implored a few of the 'bulkier' guild mates to come with them. He wanted them to intimidate their realty agent, to assure that they would get the best deal.

Gore had come along, if only to stretch his legs. Since his resignation, it had been odd for him to wander the streets. Many grunts still saluted him, but the higher ranking soldiers seemed to have decided that his leaving was a betrayal.

While he didn't go out of his way to avoid people—that would be weak—he'd found himself burying himself in his research of Northrend more and more. That was when the rumors had started. He was ashamed, people said. While he'd never cared what people thought of him, when he heard that they were speaking poorly of Sham, Lash, and his guild, he'd decided he would tear himself away from his guild work to do little things.

Like help a few friends settle into the city.

Gore and Sham were not the only orcs present, either.

Blood took in a breath that raked against his windpipe unnaturally. As their guide squared his shoulders a little more than necessary, trying desperately to make up for his lack of size with newfound bravado, Sham reached out and thunked her knuckles against the side of Blood's helmet.

Instantly, the death knight's hands were both up, holding the metal in place as though so simple an action could knock his armor away. He let out a low growl that was accompanied with a puff of frozen air which curled through his teeth—the only visible part of his face.

"Don't."

Sham scowled, but pulled her hand away. "And don't you go harassing someone doing their job."

"I was asked—"

"To be a friend. Which you have been," Sham chastised. As Blood turned his attention toward the other orcs, Gore caught a glimpse of the glowing blue behind his helmet's eye slits and gave him a subtle, apologetic shrug. The way the death knight's eyes glowed, he couldn't be sure the orc had even seen him. It was impossible to tell which way death knights were looking.

Perhaps they saw things differently?

If they did, none of them mentioned it.

Even as Gore stepped up to Sprocket and asked the goblin just what his budget range was, thinking to speed this house hunting along, Blood shifted his jaw back and forth. He'd been asked to come be muscle, to be intimidating. While, yes, it was somewhat pointless, it was one of the few things he still did well.

And it gave him a chance to wander the old neighborhood. Once upon a time, he'd lived down these streets, though there had been so much added to the area that he found himself lost almost as soon as he set foot into the area. Every now and then he thought he recognized a house or home, but then there were strangers peeking out the doors at him, no one he could honestly remember.

All that change had already left him in a fickle mood. Sham's chastising, harmless as it was intended, was the last straw. With an irritated grunt, he nodded to them and then strode over to their tour guide. Slinging an arm over the orc's shoulders—compared to Gore and Blood, they could hardly be called broad—he gave him a smile that did little more than hint at teeth underneath his helm. "Do right by these fine goblins, and you'll never have to see me again."

Then, without waiting to hear questions of clarification from anyone, he sauntered off.

He'd spent almost twenty minutes wandering through the maze of streets when his confident stride finally slowed to a halt. It never did to appear uncertain, especially when everyone was waiting for you to fall back under an evil bastard's sway, so he quickly started walking again, perhaps a bit too quickly. To the void with getting back to the city, if he could just find his way to a nice, secluded side street, he'd go back to Acherus to check on Leafless.

She still hadn't returned, and everyone was beginning to wonder what latest drama had set her off. The tauren in their guild were definitely good for gossip, if not their skills. It bugged Blood. Leafless had been dealt one of the worst hands out of everyone in the guild, at least from his view. That people could marginalize her pain as simple drama was just…

Something thudded into one of Blood's legs, snapping him from his thoughts. Instinctively, he whirled around, a snarl twisting his rotted lips as he reached for his rune blade. However, rather than an enemy spy or even a mistrusting guard, a pack of orcish children stood behind him. At the head was a boy who couldn't have been more than twelve. He already sported a scar above his eyebrow—Blood noted the angle and would bet it was from a drunken fist and not whatever heroic encounter he no doubt told the others. The boy stood there unnerved for a moment and then tried to stand taller, defiant of the fearsome visage meeting his own stare.

He could postulate all he wanted, Blood could feel the fear in him. It was intoxicating, and he had to fight the urge to draw it out. He'd broken free from the Lich King so that he wouldn't need such fears to sustain him, hadn't he?

A low growl sounded near his knee. Puzzled, Blood let his gaze slip down. A little orcess, four years old at most, was hugging one of his plated boots. Her eyes were on the others, and her teeth were bared. What would have stopped Blood's heart, though, was the shape of the brow and ears. Those ears. The way they curled just a little higher than most orcs' ears…

Saphon's ears had been like that.

Saphon…how long had it been since he'd seen her? His wife… He kept an eye on his children when they went to market, sure, but he hadn't dared to come this close to home, never able to come up with a good excuse to be in this area of Orgrimmar. Until Tizzle and Sprocket, that is.

He'd hoped to catch a glimpse of her, to see that she was alright. He knew that they were doing okay financially—he was doing his damnedest to make sure of that—but he wanted to know that she was happy.

The little girl around his leg was his. Even without those ears, he'd memorized her features as he looked after the three from a distance. He could recognize each and every one of them. Even if they never saw him, never spoke another word to him, he'd been content to watch them grow and to make sure they had the opportunity to make something of themselves.

To become better than he had been.

He'd never wanted them to see him like this.

His older children were missing from the group of tormentors, to his relief. He inspected each of the aggressors to see if he recognized them. One or two looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place any names to faces. It had been hard enough to cling to what little of his past he had; other orcs' children hadn't been a matter of great importance.

Now, though, to see them harassing his little girl?

When he spoke, he lowered his voice, making sure the undertones that went with his voice were more pronounced. "Is there a problem here?"

The leader of the group wavered for a moment—as to be expected from a child—but he stood his ground. "This doesn't concern you, corpse."

Blood let out a slow chuckle, those tones making it echo even in the confined street. "You're quite the warrior, aren't you? Brave and strong."

The boy hesitated, the other children looking at him, confused. They clearly weren't expecting compliments. Finally, he shrugged.

"Sadly, not everyone can be a warrior," Blood motioned around them. "There are workers and crafters, among others. While there is no shame in doing something that is so crucial to a successful society, still, it is…unbecoming of a warrior to fight them, when the warrior knows their skill far exceeds their opponent's. There is no honor in killing someone or thing that cannot fight back."

The boy's eyes went to the girl still clinging to Blood's boot. Her grip had loosened.

"This young thing may make a good warrior one day herself, if that is a path she chooses, and she's gifted," Blood continued, keeping his tone low. "However, at least for now, she falls into that category of those who cannot fight for themselves. Do you not agree?"

Crossing his arms, the boy seemed to consider the idea.

The others were losing interest in the pursuit. Already two had begun to look around for something more interesting to do. They would be problems when they grew up, not bothered by morality and caring only for their own needs. Perhaps someone would beat some sense into them at some point or perhaps they would find someone worth caring for. Blood didn't care; they weren't his charges.

Reaching down, he offered a hand to the little orcess—while he had asked after Saphon and the boys by name on a few times, he had never learned his daughter's. They had decided that they would wait until she was born to give her a proper name. His tour should have brought him home with a week or two to spend with his family, debating possibilities. If only he'd made it home.

She didn't take his hand, but did release his leg. He knelt down. When he spoke to her, his voice was gentler, though those damnable undertones were still present, making his words harsher than he intended. "Tell me, why do they chase you?"

Reaching up, she twisted one of her dog ears, pulling on the strands of hair and picking at their ends. A habit she'd picked up from Saphon.

When she finally spoke, her voice was so low that Blood could barely hear her. "I said—"

"She said her father was better than mine," the leader of the pack hissed. For a moment, his collected demeanor evaporated and rage twisted his features. "Her father isn't even here! He ran off years ago!"

Blood couldn't help but flinch at the child's words.

"He died a hero!" the little girl screamed. She started to run toward the group, snarling, but Blood carefully caught her by her shoulder to stop her.

Despite everything, he couldn't help but feel a strange pride stir in his dead heart. He'd always feared the burden he had left on his family, but to hear his littlest one, the one he'd never gotten to hold or tell stories to, defend him so…

"It's good to be proud," Blood whispered to her, almost forgetting their audience completely, "but you should never let it become such that you let it blind you." When she looked at him, ready to object, he thumped a plated fist against his chest. The metal clanged. "That's what got me killed." He heard a shuffle and looked at the other children, shrugging. "I thought I could take on thirty ghouls myself. It turns out I could only take on twenty-seven."

Rising back to his feet, he rolled one shoulder and then the other. Suddenly his armor felt heavy. Or perhaps it was just all the intent stares. "My point is, be proud, but don't be so proud that you bite off more than you can chew. And don't declare someone else inferior. You might realize too late that you weren't as strong as you thought." He paused before adding, "Your father may have died a hero, but that doesn't make him any better than those warriors who still fight, or those who weld the armor for those warriors. It doesn't make him any better than the peons who carry the wood to build these houses." He patted her head. "Be proud, not arrogant."

The little orcess stood in the street, staring up at him for a long, quiet while before she finally turned toward the others. She stepped up to the boy with the scar. "Sorry."

He set his jaw, his small tusks protruding a little more than usual as he digested her word. Finally, he gave her a single nod. "Just…don't say it again."

With that, he turned to leave. However, he paused, half turned, to give Blood a thump to his chest in salute. A few of the other children followed suit, and then they darted off down the street.

Even as Blood stood there, staring after the children, after the world that he'd lost, he felt something tug on his pinky. Frowning, he found his little girl had wrapped her fingers around his and was staring up at him expectantly. He stilled.

There was no way she could know. She'd never even seen him in life…

"I dunno how to get home."

Letting out a bark of a laugh that made the girl jump, he shook his head before apologizing for scaring her. "That makes two of us, I'm afraid." When she stared at him, puzzled, he shifted his weight a little, though it wasn't enough that his hand would slip out of her reach. "Do you know any landmarks to help us find our way?"

Biting her lip—another habit of Saphon's—she thought for a moment before nodding, her dog ears bouncing from the motion. Expression resolute, she tugged him down the street, her heels barely ahead of the toe of his boot. He took care not to scuff her foot.

After turning down two dead ends, she finally led him to a street he recognized. Perking up a little, he hastened his stride, taking the lead. However, even as he drew near the home, one of the neighbors—an orc he was sure he'd known years ago—saw them and paled a little.

The orc quickly started toward them, and the look on his face broke whatever simple magic Blood had found. He wasn't a father taking his little girl home. He was a death knight wandering around with a small child.

It was amazing people hadn't intervened already.

He stopped in place, and the little girl let out a squeak as her fingers slid off of his. She looked back at him, bewildered. As the other orc stopped next to them, Blood nodded toward the man, suddenly afraid that his voice would sound too familiar.

"I was just helping the little one get home."

The orc didn't even try to be polite. "Well, you've done your part."

As though the spirits were truly displeased with him, he suddenly heard a voice which made him suck in an unnecessary breath.

"Rahkras! Where've you been?"

Two orcish boys jogged over, the younger doubling over and planting his palms against his thighs as he breathed heavily. The older boy, the one who had called her, gripped her hand, anger on his features. "You can't just run off by yourself!" Even as he started to chastise her, the chill in the air around them sent goose bumps across his skin. He turned and stared up at Blood, going completely rigid.

Picking up on it the same time as Blood, the neighbor moved in between him and the children. "It's time for you to go."

Blood couldn't help a growl, though he quickly followed it with a nod. Disregarding the grown orc, he nodded toward his little girl—Rahkras—and then looked at his boys. "Sorn'Rul, Zasam, take better care of your sister." He thumped his chest and then turned back the way they'd come, suddenly thankful for those dead ends earlier.

As soon as he reached the first one, he turned down it. Even if his neighbor came to check on him, to make sure he wasn't lurking about unwanted, he'd already be back where he belonged.

The death gate's energies crackled across his skin as he stepped through it. He shuddered, a puff of air accompanying his sigh. Then, affording himself little time to think on what had just happened, he strode into the hold.

It was easy to find Leafless. She'd always enjoyed the breezes from the higher levels of their necropolis. As he stepped out onto the top level, he saw that she was sharpening one of her blades. She paused to look up at him before returning to her work. "Where's Gobber?"

He groaned, taking his helm off and tucking it under an arm as he walked toward his friend. "Still in Orgrimmar. At least he's in the guild hall."

"You'd best hope he doesn't go looking for you." Leafless didn't sound overly concerned, though she pressed her sharpening stone down a bit harder and sparks flew from the blade. She cursed and inspected the edge to make sure she hadn't damaged it.

"Worst case, he'll fall apart, and I'll have to reanimate him again."

"Or you could just get a new ghoul."

"Gobber's been with me since…by the void, he's been with me since I was first raised. I can't just discard him."

"For a death knight, you're rather sentimental, you know that?" For the first time, Leafless broke out into a half smile. It was short lived. "I take it you're here on someone's behalf?"

"Only my own," Blood trotted over and dropped down to sit with her, placing his helmet on the ground beside him and hefting his own blade over his shoulder. He set it down as he rummaged through his bag for his own sharpening stone. When he found it, he lifted his large sword to begin tending to it, but paused to admire the runes carved along its surface. It was a point of pride that they were so perfectly done.

Leafless' were neater. She'd thrown away twelve blades, melting them down and then re-forging them until she was finally satisfied that she'd made perfection.

"Do you think...do you think we're all monsters to someone?"

Blood arched his brow, the action pulling at his taunt skin. The right side of his face sagged loosely, and it moved awkwardly over his muscles. His split lip threatened to split further as he laughed. "Have you seen the way the guards look at us? I think that answers that question—"

"I don't mean people who don't know us," Leafless snapped. She went back to sharpening her sword before continuing. "I mean on a personal level. The people we've hurt. Do you think there's anything we can do to be forgiven?"

"If this is about Shadow—"

"I spoke with Bloodsworn."

Blood sucked in a sharp breath and nearly dropped his sword down the side of the necropolis. The runes pulsed in displeasure, knowing how close they were to losing touch with their master. "Why in the nether would you do something so stupid? The man attacked Orgrimmar!"

"Only Liila said that," Leafless mumbled. She rested her weapon across her legs, her hoofs hanging off the ledge she'd seated herself beside. "No one else could name the death knight working for our master."

"Former master," Blood snapped, too quickly. Leafless gave him a nonplussed look. "And there's a difference between what we did and what he did."

"Is there really?"

For a moment, he was at a loss for words. He could only vaguely remember the atrocities he'd committed while under the Lich King's will. However, he could still hear the screams of pain and some small part of him reveled in it. He shuddered. "We know what we did. We—"

"He knows what he did to Liila was wrong."

"But does he actually regret it?" Blood asked, stern. He stood back up, resting his weapon against his shoulder. "The man's a sociopath. There's a difference. We wish we could change the past. He doesn't."

"And how do you know that?" With a tilt of her head, Leafless rose up as well, her blade making a soft 'shhhk' as she put it in its scabbard. She rested her hands on the pommels at her hips. "Because Liila told you?" She motioned out toward the world beyond their vantage point. "Think of all the people we tortured. If one of them got away, wouldn't they speak just as ill of us? There could be entire guilds out there who have promised a traumatized friend that, should they ever find us, we will be put to the blade and brought to justice."

"Then let them do it!" Blood snapped. He held his arms out. "I know I didn't torture the same person for months upon months, but if there is someone who can stand before me and tell me that they know I was their tormentor, I will accept their justice. There is no honor in taking that away from them. Until then, I will make my amends to the dead and the damned."

Even as Leafless stared at him, jaw slack and glowing eyes wide, a dry chuckle interrupted their conversation and a squeaky—albeit still accompanied by hellish tones—voice followed. "That's an orc for you. Always going on about honor, even when they're literally rotten to the core."

"Kisses," Blood muttered. He didn't need to look to know that it was that idiot, sadist gnome, no doubt riding atop her ghoul. The wench acted like using her own damn legs would be some great travesty. However, as he felt her eyes upon him, he afforded her an annoyed glare. "Now is not the time for your—"

His voice cut off.

Sure enough, Kisses sat atop her ghoul, drumming her fingers calmly against its decomposing head as she stared evenly at Blood. There was a slight twist of a smirk on her features too, that normally would have left Blood threatening to punt her off the side of the necropolis.

However, he could hardly pay attention to her. Rather, standing at her side was an orcish boy he would have recognized anywhere. It was his oldest son, Sorn'Rul.

Blood's lips moved wordlessly. The boy shouldn't have been there. How had he even…? Had he followed him through his death gate? He hadn't considered that one of the children would follow after him. Why hadn't anyone stopped him? Why hadn't his neighbor?

Kisses cracked her neck one way and then the other, the action sounding sickening, even to Blood. His boy shuddered and glanced nervously up at the gnome before looking back at his father.

With a bored wave, Kisses kicked her ghoul's shoulders, and it began to shamble back toward the ramp leading into the lower areas. "The highlord would like to remind you that this is not exactly the…safest place for children." The boy started to object, but Kisses ignored him, calling the last part of her warning out as she disappeared down the slope. "We may recognize that they aren't edible, but the ghouls and geists don't."

For a moment, the three of them were completely silent. Finally, Leafless shifted her weight, no doubt uncomfortable to be infringing on this personal moment. Blood summoned the air to speak across his rotten windpipes. "Boy, you shouldn't be here."

"Dad."

Blood felt like he was being torn into by those ghouls all over again.

"You are Thalach Battlecleaver." Sorn'Rul's voice sounded uncertain now. He started to take a step toward them, but stopped.

It would be so easy to say no. To say the boy was mistaken and to send him home. It would be far better for him to know his father died in a glorious battle, the story that Saphon must have told them. It would be so much better…

"You knew our names," Sorn'Rul whispered. His resolve returned, and he marched across the distance between them, stopping in front of his father and staring up at him. He cringed a little as he met Blood's brilliant blue gaze, and then reached up and touched him on the side of his face that was still mostly intact. "And I remember you."

Blood lightly took his son's hand and pulled it away from him. "Don't do this to yourself. I'll find someone to take you home. I'll—" He remembered his guild stone and pulled it out, tapping through the options to find Enlyhn. No doubt the warlock would demand some sort of compensation, but he'd pay it, whatever it was. Sorn'Rul didn't deserve to be trapped in this place, and his family didn't deserve to wonder where he was like they would have to if he took a flight back to the Undercity and then the zeppelin across the sea. Ancestors mercy, that'd keep him away from home for over a month.

"I'll go back," the boy said, almost angry, "but not until…" He trailed off. He obviously hadn't thought much about his plan. For a moment he stood there, lips forming a thin line, punctuated angrily by his tusks. Finally, he crossed his arms. "You didn't let Rahkras say thank you. She's upset."

"Don't tell her who I am," Blood blurted before he could stop himself.

Sorn'Rul took a step back, surprised. "What? Why?"

"Honestly?" Leafless muttered. She snapped her mouth shut when Blood gave her a harsh look. She gave the two a curt bow and gathered her things. "I have quite a bit to get done, so if you'll excuse me."

She hadn't even made it to the ramp when Blood finally frowned and crossed his arms. His helm glinted near his feet, and he considered putting it on, but the damage had already been done. "She's proud of her father. Perhaps it's selfish, but I'd like her to stay that way. No one should grow up ashamed of their parents."

"Ashamed?" Sorn'Rul leaned his head forward, disbelief plain on his features. He gaped at Blood for a moment before shaking his head. "You were one of the youngest warriors to ever rise up in the ranks so quickly. You're still one of the youngest—"

"That orc is dead," Blood rumbled, his frown deepening. He felt his lip tug, threatening to split worse.

"How many orcs—how many of any race can say that their father devoted not one, but two lives for their people?" He looked hurt as he added, "You could have come home, though."

Blood's brow shot up, and he met his son's earnest gaze, not knowing what to say. "You…" It occurred to him that they wouldn't know. There had been no survivors, so no one knew how he had led his men into a slaughter. How there had been no honor in being torn apart and added to the ranks of the enemy. To the people back in Orgrimmar, perhaps he really had died a hero. Guilt curled in his gut. "It's more complicated than that."

With a scoff that reminded Blood of the way he'd dismissed his own men as weak—they'd had true strength, able to put words to their concern, and to a commanding officer at that—when they'd suggested that they wait to engage the Scourge's outpost, Sorn'Rul shook his head. "Are you saying you don't serve the Horde any longer?"

"I will always be a member of the Horde," Blood growled.

Rather than jump at the sound of those hateful undertones, Sorn'Rul smirked. There was that cocky arrogance again. "My father isn't anything to be ashamed of. Zasam knows it, Rahkras knows it. Mom knows it, too." His smile slipped, and he reached toward Blood again. "They should know that you're alive."

With a heavy sigh, Blood finally knelt in front of the boy. Sorn'Rul looked almost offended at the action, but Blood ignored it. He motioned to himself. "But I'm not." He finally reached down for his helm and rested it on his knee. "I wanted you to remember the strong, healthy orc who carried you on his shoulders. Not a rotting corpse." He hesitated, thinking back to those hazy memories. "I was handsome, too. I never thought I cared about my looks until…" he let out a dry, rasping laugh. "I'd like your mother to keep who I was in her memories. Not this."

"She wouldn't care."

"She might not, but I do." Blood narrowed his eyes, peering into his son's. "I've no right to ask anything of you, but I have to. Don't tell them, alright?" Sorn'Rul didn't answer. Instead, he stood there, tears brimming around his eyes. "Go ahead and cry."

"I'm not that weak."

Rising to his feet, Blood motioned toward the necropolis. "These old stones have seen more tears than you'll ever know, from people much stronger than you may ever be." His son's lip quivered. "They've even seen a few of mine. When you're done, I'll take you home."

As if permission was all he'd really needed, the boy's head bowed forward and half strangled, hiccupped sobs escaped him. Blood rested his hand on his son's shoulder and let him cry, for all that he'd lost and for the father he'd never have.