Chapter 14: Mystic Waters

Laiken, Krug and George awoke almost simultaneously from a cold morning rain that painted the sky shades of dark blue with gray and purple swirled about. The three silently gathered up their belongings and stowed them away – all the while attempting to keep dry. From their hidden campsite, the trio trudged down to the path.

"I suppose sleeping in shifts was too hard for you two?" George chuckled heartily.

As he said this, he reached around blindly in his belt satchel for his tobacco. Upon touching and feeling it, he realized that it was waterlogged and thus unusable. He scoffed, placing the wet tobacco back in its proper place.

"Why not just find some more?" Laiken said, examining the clump of brown-burgundy leaves.

"Ah well, since we can just find it..." George sardonically replied.

"The rain is subsiding, just dry it out when we next set up camp. I could dry it for you, if we were still camped out – if I tried now, it would be a waste of time", Krug added.

"Drying out my only reserve of tobacco? A waste of time? No! Here, my orcish companion, take it and dry it out. I think I've seen enough of you to trust your ability!" George said, handing Krug the tobacco.

Krug took the dripping pile of tobacco leaves and wrapped it in some finely threaded netherweave cloth.

"Do all engineers carry such high quality cloth with them at all times?" George, again, chuckled as he said this.

"Always come prepared – or at least somewhat prepared!" Krug similarly chuckled; placing the wrapped tobacco in his satchel, which itself was also somewhat dampened by the morning rainfall.

George shivered, pulling a hood over his gray hair. Laiken had put on a large woolen vest, with long sleeves going down to his hands. Although somewhat warmer, the vest was still damp - his larger frame, however, kept him from feeling the cold as harshly as George. Krug, by contrast, seemed entirely unbothered by the lower temperatures and passing morning rain.

"Where are we?" Laiken asked no-one in particular, glancing from side to side.

Krug jogged ahead a few yards and craned his head over and yonder, searching particularly through the haze and fog left behind from the rainfall that obscured the road the trio were near. Scoffing, he traipsed back.

"Can't quite tell from here, fog is too thick. I don't suppose you've packed a compass, Laiken?" Krug snickered.

"No compass. I'm barely even equipped with anything", Laiken said, looking down at his simple attire.

"An interesting observation", George cut in, a wry smile forming on his lips.

"So what to do?" Krug seemed intent on keeping it moving.

"I; myself, have a compass. A bit worn-in, but a working one nonetheless. If we're still headed to Stonetalon, all we need do is leave this valley. I'll admit... I seem to have forgotten which direction we'd come... the pathway has to end somewhere though! And we've found it after all, the pathway that is. Perhaps we can wait it out? The fog!" George said, pulling a small compass from one of his seemingly endless satchels.

"Was that in with the tobacco?" Krug aptly asked.

"Oh hush for one moment! Please!" George shot back, examining his trinket closer.

Krug chuckled to himself and patted his own satchel – which, of course, contained the slowly drying tobacco leaves. George lifted the small compass above his head; which itself had a simple-appearing design – blackened wood grain encasing an eight-wind-directional compass. Its directional needle was subtly colored: silver on the body, brass on the tip. The north-south axis was emboldened in a dark shade of red; whereas the east-west axis was shaded in a comely maroon. On the under side of it; unbeknownst to Krug and Laiken, were a set of letters in Common covering almost the entirety of it: 'H.D'.

George twisted his body to and fro, attempting to ascertain their position. He paced forward somewhat, paced back and then stood still. Looking ahead of where they stood in relation to the path, he shifted in his boots somewhat uneasily. Finally, as if from nowhere, George's eyes lit up and he extended his left arm to point ahead of the trio.

"So... if I'm correct... we should... be going..." - as he said this; he walked about here and there, all the while staring down into the compass in his right hand - "well from here, we need to go somewhat northeast, then, once we come out of this valley, we'll change course and work around the mountains and continue on west-southwest into Stonetalon. Hopefully, we can find our way out of here and make good progress into Stonetalon proper before the sun sets. And that's barring any unfortunate circumstances", George explained in what seemed like a single breath.

"Are we really that lost? It doesn't seem to me that we came very far into this valley for camp. How did you come up with those directions anyway?" Laiken had poised a perfectly reasoned question.

"While that may be true, we're still under the canopy of Ashenvale... ancient elven magics permeate the airs there... could have tricked us off the..." - Krug was interrupted by George.

"Off of the what? The path? You really think kal'dorei magicians are interested in tripping up a few adventurers? Here?" George made perfect eye contact with Krug as he said this, almost as though he was offended.

"Kal'dorei?" Laiken raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, the proper term for our friends in the forests. It roughly translates into Common as: 'children of the stars'. So, they get called 'night elves'. 'Night elves'! But I digress; Krug, I would certainly hope that given the state of the world with the return of Neltharion, such magics aren't being wasted", George sounded satisfied.

"Neltharion?" Laiken, again, had an eyebrow raised.

"A different name; for a different beast, the one who ravaged this world once nurtured it. I'm sure you know him by the name he's allegedly given himself – Deathwing. The Destroyer! Sounds appropriate, wouldn't you think?" George looked around as the words escaped his mouth, as if to convey his point.

With that, the trio headed off in a northerly direction. Laiken was in the rear, George the front and Krug took the center. They trudged along, occasionally stopping by a pond to refill their water skins. The rain had stopped and the sky slowly began to reveal a brilliant cream-blue colored marvel, complete with white clouds strafing in a western orientation. Laiken raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight as it was nearing noon.

They walked and walked, the sun beginning to take its toll on the adventurers who still were clad for rainfall. George was the first to disrobe his outer robing, folding it and shaking it dry as the trio took shelter under a large tree that provided them with much needed shade.

"Hey, Krug, let me see my tobacco", he held out his hand.

Krug smirked and reached around his midsection for the satchel he had placed the wrapped tobacco in. As he unfastened his satchel, he recoiled almost from the smell emanating from it. The light-pink netherweave had been stained all over by the tobacco leaves. George merely smiled as he removed the embedded tobacco from the stained cloth. Carefully he tore the leaves apart and produced a small piece of rolling paper. Within seconds, he had masterfully rolled and sealed the cigarette and would have lit it, if not for his matches being waterlogged.

"You know... sometimes I seem to forget one things requires the other...", he said to himself as he fumbled around his possessions for a spare set of matches.

"You really need a cigarette right now? In this blazing heat? You know we're still in the Barrens, right?" Krug said as he unpacked a frying pan and some not-waterlogged-matches.

"And you know that I can summon demons, right?" George had a wry smile shaping his lips.

"And you know that I'm the one with the frying pan?" Krug chuckled.

"Well played, sir", George smiled heartily.

"Our rations aren't damaged – thankfully – but we'll still need to be conservative with them. Don't know if those shaman are all about vegetables. If they are, I need to save some of the salted pork for myself so I don't keel over..." Krug said as he built a small firepit.

Laiken had long before removed the long-sleeved woolen vest, now only wearing a plain white shirt and simple hide pants. His boots were unassuming as well, hiking up about an inch or so from his ankle – leather; dyed brown, but time and wear had done their work on it. He lazily propped himself upon the tree, under which the group now sat around the small cooking fire that Krug had created – protected from the beating sunlight and somewhat comfortable, too. George puffed away on his cigarette, plumes of white smoke dancing out of his bearded mouth and dissipating in the air.

"Aren't old, gray human magicians supposed to smoke pipes?" Krug waved his hand through some of the secondhand smoke and coughed.

"Old? Well, Krug, that's just rude. And frankly, pipes taste awful... besides... shouldn't you be used to smoke? Being an engineer and all", George smirked.

"Tobacco is different", Krug grumbled as he sifted the pork in the pan.

"For the untamed lung, sure", he smiled back at Krug.

"You smoke a lot, George. Are you trying to set an example for young Laiken here?" Krug sneered.

George took a healthy drag from the cigarette and exhaled it slowly. The ember began to creep its way to his fingers – he quickly ashed it and put the rest of it out. He rose from his sitting position and circled around the small cooking fire that Krug was slaving over.

"Smells good, Krug! Didn't know orcs were such talented cooks. Say, Laiken, can you cook?" George's eyes widened slightly in curiosity.

"I can cook eggs and simple things like that", Laiken responded honestly.

"So... what do you know? In relation to the outside world, detached from your hideaway on Astoria? You seem to know how to wield a sword and shield... but that won't protect you from hunger, or the elements", George had asked a question, but his tone of voice and frequency of speech made it sound more like a ramble.

"I learned a lot of basic combat techniques from the man we're setting out to find – Lucien. Besides that it was mainly world history and reading", he explained plainly.

"You're green, Laiken. And no – not your skin tone! That's more of a... creamy-green; wouldn't you say, Krug? Tell me, then, why is it you speak only Common? If your heritage is truly half-orc, half-human, why not speak Orcish as well? Were your tutors all humans who had a deep, yet secret, hatred of orc-kind? I am curious, as it has just dawned on me that I haven't asked you these things!" George had now sat next to Laiken, looking on as if waiting for every word.

Laiken hesitated, not quite sure what answer George was expecting. Perhaps not any specific kind of answer? Laiken couldn't be sure, George seemed sharper than he let on. He mulled this for a spell, rubbing his stubbled chin absentmindedly.

"I never knew it was called 'Common'. To me it was always just how people talked, my godparents had strong accents, but I always thought it was because of where they came from. Is it truly because their native tongue is... Orcish?" the last word was foreign to him.

"That would be the best explanation, surely. Also the simplest. I'm going to guess it's because most Azerothian history books are written by humans or dwarves. Well; the ones you've seen and read, anyways. Krug here is an engineer! So it wouldn't surprise me if there's a litany of works collected by Horde agents for dissemination among the public at large. Knowledge is free, after all. Free to whomever finds need of it", George had finished his sermon, only to notice Krug staring at him.

"While the Forsaken might not be our closest allies; especially after what happened in Northrend, they were once human, George. Undercity is the ancient system of catacombs for Lordaeron's kings and queens long past, re-purposed to serve as a city. Did you think that they wouldn't translate their pre-dead literature? Plus there's goblins, too. Laiken, can you not speak any Orcish?" Krug's tone shifted to a somewhat fatherly, somewhat concerned sound.

"Not that I'm aware", he replied.

"Would you like it if I taught you? Now that we're talking of it, I am realizing your mother most likely only speaks very basic Common. It would have been prudent of us to have had this realization a week or so ago, but I can manage. I'm going to guess that because your Common tongue is unaccented, it's your 'native' language..." - Krug growled as he said this - "Pah! Humans! Trying to civilize and control everything!"

"You know, it was your people who invaded our planet first, Krug", George fired back.

"Under the control of a demon lord! The Legion! Now, I – I wasn't there – not born yet" - Krug pointed at his upper right arm - "Green skin! Born after the demonic enslavement of my people."

"Enslavement?" Laiken said quietly.

The pork sizzled loudly in the pan. Its cries fell on deaf ears, however, as an argument brewed.

"They taught you nothing of our struggle?! What did they teach you? Colonization and conquering? We were destitute here, for years! YEARS! Until Thrall! Another product of human meddling!" Krug barked out.

"Thrall has done well for orcs, and all others rejected by the leadership in the Alliance. If I am to understand correctly..." George was cut off as Krug moved uncomfortably close.

"Understand? Your... 'people', the HUMANS... they do not understand any of it! You were our slavers – and our enemies still! Thrall has done well; indeed, George – but Thrall is no longer serving as our Warchief! Instead we get a 'hero'... Garrosh Hellscream... a hero to whom? Certainly not to me. His ways will make us more like humans than I am comfortable with. He would wage war until not a single orc, tauren or troll were left. The elves... the Forsaken... they're allies of convenience to him. The elves are too powerful – too mystical for him to fully understand or trust. And the Forsaken tried to engineer a new plague not 2 years ago!" Krug's voice was steadily raising and he swung his arms around occasionally to add effect to what he was saying.

"Yes, Krug. A hero, Hellscream will do great things. Now, great is a very subjective word, but I do believe he'll change the course of history – for better or worse", George held back a smirk.

"You... you are like the rest of them! You're no better than my brethren who slaughtered and raped recklessly when they were under the sway of Kil'jaeden. You use their magics, George, you must know that eventually you'll have to pay the price!" Krug still stood but a few feet from George.

George's face scrunched up as if he was holding back. He widened his eyes and sized Krug up, glancing over to Laiken after a good long look at Krug.

"Krug... to say that Garrosh will do great things isn't an indication that I think he'll be a better leader than Thrall. Hell, I'm not even an orc and I can sense his instability. And as for why young Laiken here wasn't taught Common, I can't say. I wasn't raised there, I have no idea of the reasoning they have for teaching Common to their children. I am old, Krug. Older than you think, I expect. I have made my peace with the choice of magic I chose to pursue" George exhaled forcefully after finishing his statement, shooting a look at Laiken.

Krug stomped the ground, hard enough for dust to kick up reasonably far. He deadlocked on George, staring him in the eyes. George, however, remained unbothered.

"I don't trust your kind... warlocks, demonologists... all of it! You will eventually succumb to your dread masters. And the worst part is you know this, all too well! Yet we still travel with you. I still travel with you. I speak for myself, but I do not trust you. Laiken is free to do what he chooses, but after we meet with Hargu... I am leaving. Back to my shop in Ratchet! Maybe I'll write a book or two on the failings of warlocks and Garrosh Hellscream!" Krug looked over at the pan, seeing the ruined pork fizzling about in a blackened state.

"Krug... wasn't that your intention originally?" George asked.

"You are much like your cohorts... you don't know when to watch your tongue. When to know that you shouldn't say anything!" Krug had strewn the pan on the grassy ground and resumed his staring contest with George.

"George! Krug! Enough!" Laiken shouted.

Both of them, at the same time, jumped slightly and looked at Laiken – who stood at his full height now. His voice had almost sounded orcish. Laiken hadn't quite appreciated just how tall he was, especially compared to George. Krug sighed and began to clean his mess up – George helped, either out of a sense of humor or genuine care – one couldn't easily tell.

"Krug! I shall accept your offer to learn orcish. On one condition!" Laiken still spoke loudly to them.

Krug raised an eyebrow and waited for Laiken to continue.

"You will travel with us beyond what we find with my mother. You will travel with us until I find my friend. And George! I'll have no more of your sneaky attempts to unsettle Krug. You might be bounds above me in terms of power and experience... but you offered to help me. I want my party to not fight each other! Now apologize!" Laiken, too, stomped his foot on the ground now.

"Very wise, young Laiken, very wise", George said, looking back at Krug and extending his right hand.

"What is this nonsense?" Krug said staring at George's outstretched hand.

"Take your right hand and clasp mine – and shake! It's a human thing..." George held back a chuckle.

Krug stared deeply and intensely into George's eyes and he awkwardly clasped his right hand to George's and gently shook it up and down.

"Good... now that that's settled... want me to make the food this time?" George laughed now.

Krug held his gaze for a moment, but relented and snickered in tune with George. He reached down and nonchalantly emptied the pan of its ruined contents before handing it to George. George restarted the cooking fire and retrieved his own knapsack – a simple black cloth item, with belt buckles serving as the closing mechanism.

"I thought you... what about the tobacco?!" Krug cried out, sounding off as if to start another argument.

"Krug... my dear friend... this is bag is meant for foodstuffs and rations! I would never mix my tobacco with edible assortments! Now, do us all a favor and roll a cigarette and calm the hell down!" George shoved his tobacco rolling papers at Krug, who took them without fuss and began to roll himself a cigarette.

As George began to cook some simple bacon and eggs, he glanced around to his compatriots and let loose a hearty laugh.

"Krug?" he said.

Krug's eyes shot up to meet George's gaze – wordlessly he motioned for George to continue.

"You know... that entire argument we had was done in Common..." he laughed a sincere laugh this time as Krug grumbled.

Much time passed and the trio began their trek, again, toward what was presumed to be where Laiken would meet his mother. George led the party – navigating somewhat haphazardly down the path. As before; when they drew closer to the outreaches of the Barrens, the beige-brown grass began to change in color to a cozy green – splashed here and there with juvenile dandelions and daisies. The pathway heeded this change in scenery, being overtaken occasionally by the cozy green grass – becoming almost indistinguishable from the rest of the foliage.

Beyond the immediate path, the wild fields were slowly taken over by hills – rolling hills – themselves carrying on higher and higher as they went on, eventually becoming tall mountain faces in their own right. In the distance; unseen creatures called and cooed in the echoing canyons and waysides in between the mountain paths, encapsulating a sort of liveliness that implied an entire civilization lived within these reaches.

As it was, however, no such civilization existed – just a thriving and healthy ecosystem. There were pockets of civilization much deeper in these mountains, scattered randomly: some hidden and some strategically placed.

The Stonetalon Mountains had been relatively unscathed by Deathwing's rampage, at least in a geographic sense. While the landscape itself had been largely saved due to its height relative to its neighboring lands – the havoc wreaked on those surrounding lands had caused profound changes to the peoples who inhabited them.

The Barrens, now aptly referred to by their corresponding compass location, had been split asunder. In the northern regions, much had remained the same due to its closeness to Orgrimmar – the capital city of the Horde. Below the gigantic scar-like aberration on the land, in the southern regions, the Horde's response to the near-apocalyptic was greatly affected by this. While the Kor'kron had done exceptional work in holding and bolstering defenses around in the northern regions, the south had become hotly contested due to Northwatch Hold – an old Alliance outpost that had been reinforced and refitted with plenty of soldiers by the combined forces of the royal Stormwind and Gilnean navies.

This had, for all intents and purposes, reignited the conflict with the remaining Horde vestiges left in the southern Barrens. The Horde's remaining forces weren't so easily taken out, however, and there still remained a healthy presence of their soldiers and outposts in the region. This was fleeting; at best, as the Alliance's combined navies were largely unmatched at sea and regularly cascaded across the roaring waters of the torn oceans to deliver fresh troops and supplies to their new bases and refitted outposts lining the coasts of Kalimdor. Yet still, the Horde remained – waging a seemingly endless conflict with the Alliance.

All of this conflict, while close by in a geographical sense, was far behind the trio. The temperature cooled as the once unbridled sunlight was blocked by a combination of mountains curving and waning, mated to a light haze that circled the sky near the tops of the mountains. The party began to make their way into the endless mountains, still following the same formation they had for hours before.

"This place is... strangely peaceful. I'm guessing that the Destroyer's claws couldn't tear this land asunder! Some aspect he is..." George chuckled, breaking an hours-long trek of relative silence.

"You would know, wouldn't you – demon?" Krug's voice was sarcastic, but belied a sense of disgust barely hidden.

George shot the orc a sideways glance and rolled his eyes.

"Give it a rest, will you? A few different choices in your life, you'd be in my shoes!" As he finished his retort, Laiken raised his hands.

"Please... just stop this. Both of you! We've made it this far without shoving our blades in each other's guts. Why can't we continue on as such? What's changed?" Laiken felt as though neither were listening.

"You dare... 'a few different choices'? What choices have I made, George!?" Krug's temper had boiled over once again.

George sighed, rubbing both of his eyes.

"At this point I think you're just fishing... fishing for an argument, Krug! You want to dance? I assure you that you won't win. Wit or blade!" George had trouble keeping from yelling too loudly.

Krug, again, stepped uncomfortably close to George. He slammed both fists on his pectorals twice, a show of strength.

"Puny human... I can break you like a twig. I think you'd like to reconsider your standpoint!" Krug looked into George's eyes with an icy, piercing gaze.

George forced a cough and cleared his throat. He smiled, a wide toothed smile, and his voice became unrecognizable – a deep, demonic growl emanated from his lips. His eyes began to take a shade of purple.

"Krug... I think you'd like to reconsider your standpoint... it'd be best for your health", the smile never left his mouth.

"For my health?" Krug howled an insulting laughter.

"Enough!" Laiken cried.

Laiken drew his blade and moved in toward the two – only to find his hilt became impossibly hot. A loud sizzle was heard and he yelped in pain and dropped his sword. Something came over him, a bleeding rage. He began to see red. George noticed this and turned to look at Laiken.

"Your blood fury won't help you here, my friends", he shifted his gaze back to Krug.

His eyes were almost entirely a different color now, midnight purple and blood red. Laiken looked at his sword hand and noticed a pattern embedding its way into his skin. He shook these thoughts and charged George, all thoughts of a diplomatic solution evaporated as he raised his hand to grasp onto George's shoulder.

Much to Laiken's surprise, George met his arm with his own. Further to his surprise, although he outweighed George, and was much taller; when his arm met George's, he couldn't push. He cried out in fury and doubled down. Krug had taken the message and attempted the same, taking the opposite side Laiken had.

Both of them, however, found that George was much stronger than either of them – or both combined. He held their arms without breaking a sweat, or even losing the smile.

"This won't end well for you", his voice was entirely changed now, sounding of a sick demonic being.

"Cheating human pig!" Krug strained trying to push down.

Laiken took the initiative and swung his free hand at George's midsection. Although it looked unprotected, Laiken quickly found himself barreling backwards and into a rock face. He landed with a resounding thud and slid down to the ground in a sitting position. Clouds shrouded his vision and he quickly stood.

Krug remained there, throwing punch after punch – with George responding by effortlessly dodging them. Finally, George caught Krug's pattern and met his blow with one of his own – Krug was similarly sent flying backwards.

"George! Stop this madness!" Laiken cried out.

He searched left and right for his sword, only to see George charging at him with speed unbecoming of someone his age. His right hand swelled with unholy energy, a sickly green and brown ball of magic enshrined it – demonic flies whipping about the energy. He lunged forward and scuffled with Laiken for a moment before pushing him back to the rock face that he had been thrown to before.

"I am more powerful than either of you can imagine!" he growled out – sending a shiver down Laiken's spine.

Laiken resisted as well as he could muster, pushing back against George's titan strength. At this moment, Krug regained his senses and had run to help Laiken. He raised a small dagger and prepared to dive it deep into George's exposed neck. As he made the arc, he stopped abruptly before George's neck. He still held the dagger in the same position, but he was frozen.

"Now... dive it into that orcish heart of yours, Krug!" George hooted with demonic laughter.

Krug began to squirm and twitch violently as he turned the dagger around in his hand and slowly brought it to his chest. He roared and fought harder.

"Not like this..." he managed to say, bringing his eyes to the edge of the dagger that now was dangerously close to his heart.

Laiken froze up, looking on in horror as Krug began to inch the dagger within stabbing range of his heart.

"You sick bastard! Not Krug! I dragged you out here, not him!" Laiken was trying to hold back, but a tear managed to escape and rolled down his cheek.

"An interesting assessment of the man who is about to murder both of you. But this isn't a man, is it?" a sickly voice echoing through George hissed.

Krug began to dig into his chest with the dagger, emitting bloodcurdling screams as the dagger's edge slid into his chest.

"It is not enough, Krug. You have fought well", the voice snickered.

As all seemed lost, Laiken heard an almost silent zip through the air. He looked to where he thought he had heard it come from, only to notice an arrow piercing his left arm. Blood began to seep from the wound.

George, or at least the demon who possessed him, noticed this. The reddish-purple hue from his eyes and the energy surrounding his hand dissipated. Krug unfroze and fell to the ground, unconscious from the pain he had endured – the dagger fell with a resounding clang.

"Laiken – to the ground, now!" George released him from his grip and pushed backwards and landed on the ground.

Laiken fell to the ground, all energy expended. His back rested upon the rock face upon which he was being held. He could feel the blood trickle onto his uncovered skin. A man, standing quite tall for humans, then approached the three. He wore armor – the likes of which seemed to be crafted custom for someone of his status, or rank.

His breastplate was covered in a faded dark blue and gold cloth tabard with a lion's head, itself inside a regal appearing shield-like design. Underneath, the aging black plate breastplate stretched over his arms and groin, connecting almost seamlessly to his similarly aged black plate greaves. Outfitting his arms were two long, black plate gauntlets; much more visibly damaged than the breastplate and greaves.

The right gauntlet still covered much of the hand and forearm beneath, however the outer layering was very worn and sheared in places. The tanned skin beneath was visible through very small spots with no protection forming a snakelike pattern that climbed up the gauntlet and onto the bracer. The left gauntlet wasn't in anyway seriously damaged as the right, however wear and tear still shone; particularly around the knuckles and fingers.

Although time and battle had certainly done their fair share of damage to the plate, one could still discernibly make out the makings of flamboyant designs around the edges of each section. The pauldrons each held small emblems of silver color, perhaps made of a lesser iron, that were forged to look like some sort of familial crest – two swords in a cross behind a shield adorned with a wolf-like beast, the likes of which Laiken hadn't seen.

The armored man was a sight to behold, intimidating in his own way. He slowly stepped toward Laiken, who still writhed in pain from the arrow protruding from his left arm. The man's shadow soon overtook what light was shining in the area, casting a long shadow that enveloped Laiken and caused him to meet the man's gaze.

"Long is the road traveled by one with a cause, half-breed", the man said with bated breath.

His eyes drilled holes into Laiken, who was beginning to feel lightheaded from the blood trickling freely from his arrow wound. Laiken coughed and averted his gaze for a moment, hoping the giant man would unlock his stone-like stare. He steadied himself and swallowed hard, bringing his eyes to meet the man's again.

"And you are?" Laiken managed to say.

"Someone who is very lucky. Very lucky indeed", the man replied.

Laiken had just now noticed that the man still hadn't sheathed his bow behind his back, he still held it at his side as if in awe. He wavered from side to side slightly, feeling woozy as he tried to move much more than a few inches or so.

"Tell me, scum, just who are you?" the man quickly threw his bow to the ground and reached to his blade, which also rested on his back.

The blade came from the sheath slowly, making a satisfying shiiiink as he drew it and positioned it to point directly at Laiken's throat.

This time, however, something deep within Laiken began to stir – and stir violently. He recalled feeling this when he was held captive by the goblins, coincidentally when he had met George. Ignoring the growing pain in his arm, Laiken straightened his posture and began to dig in feet into the dirt below. Sounds became distant for a moment, and his vision became clouded with a faintly red haze. The life from his eyes vanished as he stared straight ahead at his assailant. He snapped to when he felt the cold steel against his throat.

"Speak when spoken to, worm, who are you?!" the man hissed, gritting his teeth.

Laiken looked to the man, closely examining the armor that protected him. He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to find, but he knew there had to be a weak point somewhere. However, as the seconds passed, these thoughts became less and less coherent and planned. He had to strike. Now.

"I am... Laiken. Laiken Tearshorn!" he shouted, louder than he intended.

"Laiken? What the hell kind of stupid name"- the man was slashed across the face abruptly by Laiken.

The man stepped back and wore a look of shock on his face as he ran his plated hand over where the slash on his face was. Blood slowly oozed from the wound and dripped onto his breastplate and below.

Laiken didn't mince words, he sprung forward toward the man, throwing his full weight of his frame onto the tackle. He raised his right arm again to strike as his body neared the armored man before him, only to be met with a counter from the man's left arm. The cold black plate against Laiken's largely unarmored skin caused a shiver to creep down his spine.

Laiken held the dagger in his right hand as the man blocked it from inching closer again, both of them straining against the strength of the other. The wound in Laiken's arm had all but ceased to cause reverberations of pain, although blood still seeped from it. He couldn't see anything beyond this man, a blood-red haze surrounded the edge of his vision. He kicked out, almost immediately regretting it as his foot met with black plate, the likes of which was still very sturdy. He fell backwards wincing in pain, still locking his gaze with the black plated man. Laiken shook the webs from his conscious and lept up to meet him in combat once more.

The man raised his sword above his head and came down in an arc, slamming into the ground where Laiken lay. Laiken looked to his dagger and realized quickly that he was going to lose if he didn't end it quickly. The man came around again with a swift swing of his blade, slicing the air in a horizontal fashion. This man had the same thought as Laiken, it seemed. Laiken barely had time to dodge the blow, rolling sloppily to the side and stopping on a tree trunk. He inhaled deep and lept up once more to meet the man.

The man violently thrusted forward with his blade, barely missing Laiken's uninjured right arm. The blade, however, dug a few inches into the tree trunk – an opportunity for the tables to turn, or so Laiken thought. He dashed over to the man, struggling with his stuck blade, and grabbed him from behind, attempting to bring him to the ground.

This man, heavily armored and skilled in close combat, was also much stronger than Laiken had anticipated. The man fought back, and he fought back hard. He left his blade stuck in the trunk and grabbed Laiken's arms that were wrapped around his neck.

Laiken's left arm was the first to give way, as even if he didn't feel it, it was still much weakened from the arrow protruding from it. He brought his left hand back and reached for his dagger. His right arm wasn't budging though, as he kept trying to pull back and bring the man to the ground. The man emitted an eerie chuckle.

"So... which of the Silver Hand trained you in combat?" although Laiken couldn't see it, the man smiled from ear to ear.

Laiken roared in fury, pulling as strong as he could at the man's neck. His weight finally gave way and he fell backwards, the blade still dug into the tree trunk. Laiken awkwardly fell backwards but regained his footing and ran to the man, grabbing hold of his right arm with his (still bleeding) left. He drew the dagger and swiftly brought it to the man's chest, only to be met with resistance. The man clasped Laiken's right wrist and grunted trying to wrest the dagger from him. Laiken kept feeling fury build, unimaginable fury that only orcs could describe. His vision sharpened and he felt his other senses follow suit. Laiken slammed his foot down onto where his left hand originally held.

This was followed by a howl and a quieter cracking sound. The howl snapped Laiken from his state and he looked at the armored man. There was a huge foot-shaped dent on the man's right arm, about an inch above the elbow. The right side of his face was covered in blood, so too were the exposed parts of his upper chest. He kept trying, in vain, to move his right arm without searing pain.

Laiken stood and breathed in, the pain in his left arm began to scream again. He limped over to the tree trunk where the blade was dug in and leaned against the hilt. He rocked back and forth slowly, examining the writhing man before him.

"Who are you?" Laiken finally spoke.

The man chuckled and coughed. He attempted to look at Laiken, but because of his position was unable to. He pulled himself into a sitting position, against which his back rested against nothing except the air. He looked at Laiken in the eye and smiled for a moment before the pain from his (presumably) broken arm and wounds surfaced again.

"My name is... Issac", he spat between winces.

"Why are you trying to kill me?" Laiken pointedly asked.

"Why should I reveal my motives to you, Laaaykin?" Issac hissed.

Laiken grimaced, clutching his left arm weakly. He waded over to Issac and kicked him, forcing him onto his back once more. He raised his foot and placed it firmly above his elbow, to a resounding screech of pain.

"My name is Laiken. Why are you trying to kill me?" the blood-red haze had dissipated from his vision.

Issac squirmed about, attempting to move his wounded arm from under the half-orc who held it there.

"These wounds aren't fatal, Issac. I can help you", Laiken focused his eyes on Issac's.

"Help someone who would kill you? You were most certainly trained by some Silver Hand reject", Issac met Laiken's stare.

Laiken increased the pressure and narrowed his eyes.

"I'll ask once more! Why have you come here to kill me?!" Laiken barked.

Issac shifted under the intense pain and increasing pressure. He cried out in pain.

"That is Ironheart to you, half-breed scum! If I was the first... I won't be the last!" Issac began to quietly chuckle.

Laiken heard a quiet shifting of plate and looked down at Issac in time for him to catch a small, blood-iron dagger move swiftly at the behest of Issac's hand. Without thinking, Laiken moved his position and descended on Issac. He brought his dagger to Issac's throat and plunged, a sizzling sound emitting from the wound. Blood sprayed over Laiken's face. He roared and slumped down, feeling a throbbing in his right leg.

Issac had died with a twisted smile on his face, and his dagger dug deep into Laiken's leg. These factors hit Laiken all at once, and he began to reel from the combined pain. He crawled to where Krug lay and slumped down next to him. He could feel his pants beginning to wet from the blood gushing from his wound. He drifted, keeping his eyes fixed solely on the corpse of the large human man he had just slain.

He looked to his companions, both of whom still weren't among the waking world. After some time, sitting and bleeding, he fell into a deep unconsciousness.

Some hours later, after the sun had set and the twin moons brilliantly illuminated the night sky, Laiken stirred weakly. Through the dark edges on his vision, and the pinging in his ears, he saw and heard wolves. The hairs on his arms stood, and he tried to stand, only to feel an extreme shooting pain crawl up his leg and shoot down his arm.

He shot his gaze to where Issac was slain. He still remained, a dagger and its hilt showing clearly in the moonlight protruding outward from his neck. George and Krug remained, too, although Laiken was the only one awake still.

The howling grew ever closer and Laiken weakly crawled over to Issac's body and pulled his dagger from the man's neck. Soon, in the clearing the four had fought in, wolves came and surrounded them. Atop them were orcs, mainly female, adorned in all sorts of mail and leather armors – elaborately designed to evoke the numerous animal and natural spirits they drew their powers from.

Laiken could hear them chatting back and forth in hushed tones, although he couldn't understand what they were saying. One by one, the orcs came to the four and collected them. Issac's corpse was stripped of armor, along with his weapons and other personal effects. The orcs did the same to George, who stirred during this.

"...what? Orcs...?" he murmured faintly.

When the orcs came to Laiken, one of them realized he was awake. This brought a large group of them to him, where they swiftly removed the arrow from his arm and gently lifted his leg to stilt it for healing. Then, something Laiken had never before experienced happened. One of the orcs raised her arm and chanted something in what Laiken presumed was Orcish. In an instant, a rush of mystic waters rushed over his body. He could feel the wounds close and the pain dampen. He exhaled and tilted his head back to meet the eyes of one of his rescuers.

"Thank you", he said as he slipped into unconsciousness again.

The orcs whispered among themselves, particularly over the matter of Issac's corpse. They tidied up their charges and slowly, in several small groups, began to take them to places unknown.