This is the official first chapter, don't forget to leave a review if you read it please. Reviews let me know people at least cared enough to say something on it. As always Blizzard owns Warcraft and until I take over the world, I don't.
The rain fell heavily as it had all week in The Barrens, and the sky was a constant gray. Animals were plentiful during those times and adventurers were out in large numbers seeking a name for themselves. Despite the rain water was still scarce in the plains and as such was still a treasured commodity in such a dry land.
Danya had made sure to bring plenty with him since the Crossroads and Camp Taurajo were the only places with water. Except for Ratchet, Danya corrected himself, The Crossroads and Camp Taurajo were the only reasonable places with water. The damned goblins at Ratchet charge a small fortune for a drop of the liquid.
The orc warrior snapped out of his thoughts and turned to the task at hand. Zargh the butcher was low on meats and was willing to pay a steep price for more. As he started running again, the mail armor he wore jingling noisily, he searched as far as he could see for more of the plain striders.
Danya noticed the rain had stopped pouring down, at least for the time being as the dark clouds above still seemed full of water. The orc hoped it would stay that way for a while, all the rain had turned the packed dirt of the barrens to a thick mud. This made it nearly impossible to travel it as his boots often sank several inches into the ground with each step. At least the animals seemed to enjoy it making it all the easier to hunt them down.
He swore and ran a gauntleted hand through his shoulder-length black hair. He must have scared off or killed most of the game in the area. Turning back to the North Danya entertained an idea. The Razormanes would have meat with them. The carnivorous pig-men were even believed to resort to cannibalism in times of famine. Thorn Hill wasn't far, and he could sell what meat he had already earned at the Crossroads and possibly finally buy a helmet on the way. Besides, the Razormanes weren't known for their skill in battle.
The orc snapped back to reality at the sound of a feral roar. He looked to the right just in time to see a savannah prowler leap towards him. The warrior reached behind his back, feeling for his familiar companion. His hand grasped the shaft of the heavy war axe and he ripped it off his back and brought it forward. The heat from its fiery enchantments seeped through his gauntlets. Just before he could bring the mighty double bladed weapon into a fighting position the prowler tackled him to the ground.
For a moment all he saw was the darkness of the clouds above him before he came crashing down hard onto the cobblestone path. The large cat seemed disoriented, as though it had not expected such a fall. His axe no longer in his hands Danya used the disorientation to his full advantage, grabbing ahold of the animal's mane and feeling for its throat. However the hair surrounding its neck was too thick and the orc couldn't feel anything but more of the creatures pelt. Finally he gave in and tried tearing hair out in large chunks, desperately trying to strangle the animal.
Suddenly the large predator seemed to awaken from its confusion and lunged for Danya's throat. The orc's hands grabbed its muzzle scarcely an inch from his face, the muscles of his thick arms bulged under his armor as he fought to keep it from his throat. The prowler's razor claws cut into the mail on his chest as it attempted to gain leverage. An idea coming to mind, the warrior slowly adjusted his grip so that his right hand would be on the prowler's lower jaw, and the left farther up on its head.
He knew he would only have one shot at it, as the second he tried it, he wouldn't be able to push back as hard. A vision of the prowler tearing into his unprotected neck haunted him for a moment but he forced it out and focused on the task at hand. Holding the top of the head as steady, he prepared to give its jaw a mighty twist. The exact moment he tried to move his right hand, the fangs of the enormous cat plunged down the last inch toward his neck.
Danya closed his eyes tightly as he pushed as hard as he could with his right hand, feeling the fangs touch the skin of his neck. The orc had failed, he hadn't moved fast enough and it had cost him his life, he would be prey to the hungry animal. And his rotting corpse would feed the hyenas once the prowler was finished with its latest meal. Perhaps his rotted body would one day be found, though no one would recognize him by then.
Crack!
The sound carried through the still, moist air of the day. The weight against him slumped and Danya felt the force against his hands go slack. Opening his eyes he stared back into dull lifeless ones. Throwing the body off him Danya stood up slowly and felt his neck, then smiled. Not a scratch. He wished he could say the same for the rest of him however. The armor on his legs and chest was torn open in many places, most of which had cuts underneath them, some of which were deep.
Recovering his enormous war axe, he kicked the lifeless corpse of the prowler onto its side. Drawing a small dagger, he cut off several large pieces of meat and stuck them in his pack. Hand still in pack the orc drew out several heavy linen bandages and, removing his armor, applied them to the deeper wounds. Glancing at the torn mail that was his protection he sighed. It would have to be tended to by a blacksmith and it wouldn't come cheap.
Donning the damaged armor, the green-skinned warrior began to move, heading north to the Crossroads once again. Almost as soon as he had started Danya felt something trickling down his leg, fearing another cut, the orc reached for a bandage. When he looked for the wound however, he discovered that a canteen had been sliced open, and the water had poured out onto his leg.
"Damn that beast." The orc muttered as he examined the canteen. It wasn't likely to be salvageable, but he would try at the Crossroads.
Checking his remaining canteens for any signs of damage, Danya realized that he was nearly out of water. Only one of the containers had any water left in it and there wasn't much, the prowler had ruined his last full canteen. Fear began to edge into him. Despite the clouds it was still extremely hot, and the water wouldn't last him the hours it would take to return to shelter. The heat would kill him before he made even half of the distance, the orc was sure of it. There was no chance of making it to the Crossroads in time. Maybe if he were lucky a fellow warrior of the Horde would be able to aid him, but there was little chance of him finding someone out in the trackless plains.
Danya sighed. There was no choice but to try, and try he would, he was an orc, the strongest of the races. If anyone could make it back alive, it would be him. Setting off again, the green-skinned warrior held onto the small flame of hope he had. As the minutes passed, the flame weakened, conserving the little water left had proved nearly impossible. Running was difficult as the humidity choked his lungs, stealing each breath as soon as he had it.
For once, the orc wished it would rain. Anything to help him against the sweltering heat. He had long since removed the armor he had been wearing, it was far too hot. Now he wore simple clothing made of linen. His large axe was also put away, despite possible danger. The fiery enchantments only made it worse in the extreme heat. Danya felt dizzy in the temperature, suffocated, and a need to rest. Drinking the last of his water he knew he didn't want to die this way, defeated by the mere heat of the day. He was an orc, and a warrior's death was the only way he could die, the only way he would allow himself to die.
As he sat on the side of the seldom-traveled road he looked all around himself as far as he could, searching for anyone. There was still no one, he had held out hope there would be someone as he got closer to the outpost. Yet the orc knew he was still too far out for there to be an abundance of others. Checking his map of the Barrens he knew he would never make it, he had only traveled half the distance he needed to and had already drank the last of his water.
With a grunt of effort the warrior rose, and just as he prepared for his last attempt at survival, his flame of hope all but gone. He noticed something. To his right, there was something. Something green. Turning, Danya hefted his pack, heavy due to the armor inside, and slowly headed towards the patch of green. Green meant life, but what could survive out here besides half-dead grass and scattered trees? If something was healthy enough to be green, there had to be water, and that thought spurred the orc on. Yet his map showed there to be nothing there but more of the empty plains
However he wasn't sure it wasn't an illusion, the heat could be playing tricks on his mind. After all his map showed there to be nothing here but more of the empty plains. Even if there was water he would need to conserve his strength getting there, especially if it was guarded. Soon it was clear the plants went on quite a ways, and it seemed even trees were in the distance. Not the dead, dry husks found elsewhere, but lush, healthy trees. Touching the short grass, the orc knew it couldn't be in his mind, unless he had truly gone mad.
Danya turned toward the trees, and headed toward them, perhaps the water was above ground, but if it wasn't he would have to dig for it. If it came to that, he doubted he had the strength left for the task. The trees weren't many in number, but there must have been a large amount of water to sustain them so well, or so he hoped.
Something soon came into sight though, it looked like men riding horses, at least until he came closer. Then it became clear they weren't men riding horse, but men and horses, and that meant only one thing. Centaur. They even had their small huts set up in their usual scattered, random patterns, truly they had no sense of tactics. Danya suppressed a frustrated cry, of course just as he seemed to have a chance of survival fate threw something in his way. Now wary, the orc continued closer to the centaur. If the centaur were here, there had to be at least a well.
Re-donning the chain mail armor and hefting the mighty war axe, he had all but forgotten the heat. There were far too many of the horse-men to fight, perhaps he could find a way around their camp. If there was only a well though, getting to it could mean a large fight, one he couldn't win even at his peak. Skirting the small village as close as he dared the orc slowly made progress. Danya felt a growing sense of frustration, he was a warrior, the fierce strength behind the Horde, not some cowardly rogue. His instincts told him he should fight, prove the strength he had to the filthy invaders. Yet he knew he couldn't, not yet. As soon as he was able he would return with allies and lay waste to the foolish creatures.
Finally, the last of the crude huts behind him, he searched for any sign of water. There had been no signs of any at the village, so it was likely to be nearby. Gripping his axe handle tighter he headed towards the largest clump of trees and shrubs he could see. Then, he heard something that both raised and lowered his spirits, a splash. That meant he was very close to the water, but it also meant someone was already there, and he doubted it wasn't a centaur. Crouching low, he slowly moved closer to the low bushes.
Pulling back part of a bush, he confirmed his suspicions, there were centaur in the water. However they were merely children, two of them actually, seemingly taking a swim in the small oasis. The proud warrior knew he couldn't bring himself to murder children, not in cold blood like this. He considered waiting for them to finish, but with how weak and dizzy he was, it was clear waiting wasn't an option for him. Then he would have to find another way to drive them off, and keep them away.
Lifting a rock from the ground nearby, he waited for several of wait felt like hours for one of them to turn away from the other. Finally, just as he believed he would need another plan, one of them swam off from the other, interested in something on the far bank. Danya pulled his arm back and hurled the small stone at the child, then ducked behind the bush, the last thing he needed was to be seen. He heard a voice shout at angrily in a language he didn't understand, and then a closer one respond. After several seconds of loud splashing, silence reigned. Glancing up, the orc saw the one he had hit running towards the village, the other not far behind.
Smiling to himself, Danya quietly but quickly made his way to the oasis. Taking one last look around himself, he submerged his head in the cool water, drinking deeply. It tasted dirty and thick, but the orc didn't care, it was the best drink he had ever had. After bringing his head back out of the water he realized he felt better much sooner than he thought he should have. Something wasn't right with the water he drank, it should have taken much longer than that and much more water than that to be well again.
Knowing he had no choice but to take more with him, and seeing as it had no ill effects he filled his remaining canteens with the liquid. Taking a second to stretch the orc began to head off toward what he hoped was the road, he needed to make it to the Crossroads soon. Behind him he heard a cry of surprise, intermingled with the whinny of a horse. Already knowing what he would see, the green-skinned warrior turned around. There were three of them, one of which was clearly the leader, was larger than the other two and had an arrogant air around him.
The centaur spat in crude orcish "This place belongs to the Kolkar green skin, you are trespassing. And the penalty for trespassing on our lands is death."
Danya measured the strength of the three of them. The one who had spoken carried a simple sword with many notches taken out of the blade. He would be the strongest, and the one that would have to be killed first. The other two with the leader carried crudely made hatchets, nothing compared to his mighty axe. Still, he doubted he could win against three, especially in quick succession if not all at once. There was no choice however, and it would be a warrior's end.
"You want a fight? Bring it then!" Danya said. The leader haughtily advanced towards him as soon as he finished, raising the sword in a fighting position as his hooves kicked at the soil.
Before he had even moved, before he had even raised his axe, the rage had come to him. A primal, powerful, near evil strength began to spread into the orc. It moved as though time had no meaning, steadily coursing through his veins, every second making the warrior stronger. With the power of it his strength doubled, tripled, gaining every second. Cords of muscle bulged with the new power he now felt inside himself.
As it spread all sense of fear, of hesitance, of mercy faded from Danya. All of it was washed away by a new feeling, the feeling of power incarnate. Everything boiled away from his mind to the simple thoughts of kill or be killed, destroy or be destroyed. All that mattered now was killing the enemy in front of him, survival was secondary to that task.
The power and hatred imbued into his race by the demons centuries ago filled him. The very thing that had dominated the orcs for generations and turned them into creatures that killed freely until they alone ruled. All of it was held in one small corner of the orcs' minds, forever a tool that they could call on as they wished. And it had but one name: the blood rage.
Once the rage fully completed its transformation Danya saw everything in red. It was the blood red it would be when he was finished with it all, when he had fulfilled what he had called upon the rage to do. His eyes glowed red with the intensity and hatred inside of him, he was but a vessel for the rage within. The centaur but things for the rage to prey upon. All of it filled the beastly roar that followed.
The leader had only just reached him when the roar had echoed through the silence. Momentarily stunned by the cry, the centaur barely parried the axe blow that would have cleaved him in two. The combatants traded blows, the centaur being forced back with each strike of the orc. However Danya couldn't get past his defense for long enough to finish it. Soon, the two weapons were locked, and were pushed back between the two continually.
The centaur felt some of the strength behind the axe lessen. Thinking the orc was tiring, the former pushed as hard as he could back towards his opponent. That was when he realized Danya was only holding the axe by one hand. Before he could react, he felt a powerful blow to the side of his face, and blood poured from his mouth. Coughing, he stumbled for several moments before regaining his balance.
Exactly when the centaur recovered enough to stand, the axe swept in, cleaving his front two legs off the body. The searing heat immediately cauterized the wounds, and Danya's opponent collapsed forward, no front legs to hold him. As his enemy cried out in pain and fumbled for his sword, Danya unceremoniously beheaded him. Breathing heavily, the victor turned to face the remaining two.
Rather than flee in fear as he would have thought, the other two hardened their expressions. One of them charged him, the crude hatchet swung in a downward arc towards his left shoulder. Intercepting the swing with his axe, Danya cut through the wooden handle under the head of the axe. The axe head's momentum carried it on and it grazed his shoulder before hitting the ground. Then the orc swung towards the centaurs side and as the axe struck, it tore skin and muscle, the fiery enchantments again sealing the wounds. The upper half of its body tumbled over the lower half, which collapsed in a heap.
Hearing a cry, the orc turned to see the final centaur charging straight towards him. Its powerful legs churned the dirt as it flew at him. As it drew back the hatchet, Danya knew there wouldn't be enough time to dodge or block it, the centaur was too close and too fast. The blood rage left him and he realized he had let down his guard. At least now it would be a worthy death, a warrior's death in a final battle.
Suddenly a sword caught the centaur in the arm with the hatchet, nearly severing it from the body. Turning, it brought the hatchet towards the new opponent, only to have it deflected by a shield. Danya felt he had seen that shield before, yet it brought him no comfort something about that shield warned him of the owner. However before he could see who was using the weapons, a splash of blood covering everything for a moment, and he shielded his eyes. When he reopened them, the centaur was dead, gutted on the ground by his new ally.
"Thank you warrior, I would not have survived without your help." The orc said as he turned to face his rescuer. "But why were you out here in the middle of-" He stopped when he saw who it was, or rather what it was. Dressed proudly in his blue colored mail, sword and shield at his side, the figure also looked at him. Danya blinked in disbelief, here standing next to him, was a human.