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| - Thork growled as he held the axe in his right hand. He glared at his brother who stood on the other side of the arena. Both were bare chested and wore leather trousers. Both had one weapon of choice. This was a Mak’gora, a duel of status. The victor would become Gath'Ilzogg’ second, the lower demoted to the status of peon or something less, death. ‘There can be only one, brother.’ Torgarr grumbled. ‘I hope for your sake you will not go soft on me. I wish to kill you when you are on your prime.’ Thork glared. ‘Bring it, fool.’ The crowd gather around the two Orcs, supporters on both sides cheering on for their combatant, among them a cloaked individual. All ready a goblin, who was travelling by, made a gambling den for this occasion. Agra held her hands over her stomach, praying deeply to the ancestors. Gath'Ilzogg sat on a self styled throne as he rose his hand. ‘Begin.’ The two brothers charged, their axes striking at each other. The strikes and jabs were fast, near lightning, making the blade heat up. Orc weaponry was known to not be as strong as dwarven or human arms, but it served somewhat as a fail safe. If a blade was destroyed it forced the combatant to fight with the hilt, reducing the risk of death. Which was exactly what happened with these pair of weapons. After a hour of sustained battle both weapons broke, forcing both the warriors to continue fighting with their hands and tusks. At a glance one could not say they were brothers, for they fought like they were each other’s arch nemesis, which was largely true. Both were getting tired, restless. Thork knew he had to end this if he wanted to spare his brother’s life. He tackled his younger brother and mercilessly wailed on him with his black blood drenched fists. ‘S-stop!’ Torgarr held out his hands. ‘I give in!’ Thork’s fist stopped halfway through. ‘Do you yield Torgarr of the Blackrock clan?!’ Thork shouted. ‘Zug...zug...’ Torgarrr sighed. ‘You win....’ Thork panted as he got up. He looked at Gath'Ilzogg. ‘Warlord, I have won the Mak’gora!’ The victor shouted. Thr warlord nodded. ‘You wish to end his life?’ Thork hook his head. ‘My brother is a good warrior, he proved himself during this duel, I ask of you to let him remain a warrior, his arm is full of use.’ Agra smiled to herself. The ancestors heard her call. Not only did he won the position of being the Warlord’ second, but also her hand in mateship. Thork offered his hand to Torgarr. ‘Come brother, stand and be counted.’ Torgarr nodded and took his elder’s hand. Agra saw something sparkle in the moonlight behind Torgarr’s belt. No...he wouldn’t. Her eyes gaped open as Torgarr’s hand coverd the metal. ‘Watch ou-‘ Her cries were stopped when the dagger plummeted in Thork’s neck. The orc warrior felt his own black blood choking his throat as he fell to his knees. Torgarr grinned as he stood up. ‘You think this would be a honourable duel my naïve brother?’ Torgarr kicked him on the ground. ‘My position as second was all ready arranged the moment you spoke of going back to the old ways.’ Thork could only watch as his brother started to laugh. ‘Do not fret, your body will still be of use...’ The wounded warrior glanced one last time at Agra, who despite her stoic look could not help but drop a single tear. The world around him grew dark as his own blood formed a pool around him. He failed, he let Agra down, he let the pup down, he let his honour down... The cloaked individual moved to the Warlord. ‘I can take the body now?’ the male voice asked Gath'Ilzogg. ‘Dabu.’ The warlord grinned as he took the bag of gold from him. ‘Give Morganth my thanks for the new arms and magicks, Marius.’ The cloaked man threw his hood back . ‘I’m certain the feeling is mutual milord.’ Two Blackrock warriors dragged Thork’s body away as Torgarr moved to his mate. ‘Let us go home my mate.’ Torgarr smiled and held her hand. ‘No more will he bother us.’ Inside her heart broke, but she had to keep playing her part, just like Thork said she should in case this would happen. ‘Zug zug.’ She smiled and walked with him to his tent. She only glanced back once at the body, her hopes and dreams being dragged with it. The two orcs placed the body on the cart as Marius took his seat. ‘You did good out there my dear Thork....do not fret, we’ll have use for you. After all like the old Death Knight Kar’tel said: ‘ Every body, even if it’s heart stopped beating’ has it’s purpose.’ The orcs screamed in agony as he opened his eyes. When he glanced around he saw he was surrounded by a group of robed figures who stopped the murmuring. ‘Yes...’ the head acolyte grinned. ‘It worked!’ The orc gazed at his hands. ‘what...who are you, what am I, who am I?’ The head acolyte grinned even more. ‘I am the Necromancer Marius, but you can call me Master, a proud servant of the Lich King, your name is Kar’thal, named after one of the first Death Knights, you are a death knight.’ ‘Master?’ ‘A proud warrior of the undead Scourge, I have spend many years in perfecting you to be the perfect killing machine.’ He motioned for one of the other acolytes to fetch him something. The acolyte returned with a robe, a bit plated with saronite metal, and a scythe. As the robed figures dressed him Marius continued. ‘You will be one of the finest Death Knights Azeroth have ever seen. They will call you the Horsemen of Death, the reaper of souls, Kar’tal the rider of Death of the Ebon Hold.’ The figures finished dressing the Orc who took the scythe without question. ‘What d you want me to do, Master?’ Marius pondered, then pointed at the one he motioned to earlier. ‘Kill him.’ The Orc obeyed without question and sliced the robed figure in half. Marius laughed as the blood flew around the room. ‘Excellent, most excellent!’ The room seemed to turn cold as the door was swung open. Kar’tal had the urge to kneel when the long plated figure wielding a wicked ice like blade entered. ‘Is it finished?’ The plated figure asked in a strong ice cold voice as the robed figures, including Marius, dropped to their knees. ‘Yes my king.’ Marius replied. ‘Kar’thal is ready to serve the Scourge with the other Knight you gathered to attack the Scarlet Crusaders.’ The king turned around to see the Death Knight, his blue eyes seemed to pierce through the horseman. The wolrd seemed to end with every word he spoke. ‘We expect great things of you, Death Knight.’ Kar’tal followed the road to where the guard said the Blackrock’s where. Stonewatch keep was once a human fortress, but was taken by the Orcs. There Kar’thal would find the female called Agra, and their pup. He told his steed to stop as he sniffed a smell from the air. He recognised that smell, but from where... His mind went back to Agra. Her sweat mingled with his, her naked body against his. Yes, it was her! With a quick tug he steered his mount to the source of the smell, telling him the run as fast as he could. When he neared the source of the smell, he sadly picked up another scent....blood, orc blood. He hastened, tugging the reins even harder. In the distance he saw a figured laying down on the ground. ‘No no no!’ Kar’tal shouted and told his steed to go even faster. The horseman stopped his steed and leaped to the figure. He turned the figure over....and was greeted by the bloodied face of Agra. ‘No....’ he mutterd. ‘Agra, agra speak to me!’ For the first time since his revival as a Death Knight, the horseman felt another emotion beside anger....sorrow. Much to his relieve the sorrow was replaced by joy as she opened her eyes. ‘...Thork?’ she whispered; ‘Is that you?’ ‘Zug Zug.’ The Horseman nodded and threw his hood back. ‘It’s me.’ He held the female’s hand. ‘I’ve returned...’ Agra smiled, somehow not caring for his new Death Knight state. She strayed his cheek, before her eys widened. ‘Grima, they took Grima!’ she tried to stand but was soon fell to pain. ‘Agra, you must rest.’ ‘No...we tried to run...they were going to sacrifice her..’ ‘Sacrifice?’ Agra coughed up blood. ‘She.. she’s a shaman, Thork, our little girl is a shaman.’ ‘Save your strength.’ Kar’thal tried to calm her down. ‘No...no they’ll give her to the dragon...at noon!’ she coughed up even more. ‘I will save her, do not fret.’ Kar’tal spoke softly. ‘We tried to run...they got her....they got our little girl...’ Agra’s whisper became less audible. She coughed up more blood as her green skin faded even more. ‘Agra...’ Kar’thal knew her time was short. ‘Thork....are we back in Nagrand?’ her eyes slowly dimmed. Kar’thal noticed the loss of blood made her hallucinate, he could not shatter her dreams. ‘Yes...we are.’ She snuggled into him. ‘We’re laying on the soft grass, letting the sun warm us as little Grima runs over to the lake...’ he said. ‘Gives us a little time alone...’ she weakly pecked his cheek. ‘I...love you...’ She led go of his cheek as she breathed out her final breath. ‘I love you to....’ Kar’thal whimpered and let go of her. The newfound happiness turned to sorrow again as he cried out her name into the heavens, announcing the ancestors of her arrival. He glared in the direction the fortress was, he already lost to much to the Blackrock clan and their evil ways, he would not let them take his daughter to. Gath'Ilzogg sat on his throne as the small orcling, barely a toddler, was led to the large reptilian creature that nearly dwarfed the fortress. He felt like he was the luckiest orc on the world. This way he could deal with both problems with one stone. The dragons of the black flight demanded sacrifices every month. Be it cattle, a peon, or a hapless human villager. The clan also had a strict zero tolerance on shaman. They were a thing of the past, a link to the past no orc should remember. ‘Warlord, the dragon is waiting.’ One of his grunts said. Gath'Ilzogg nodded. ‘Let the execution-‘ He was caught off as a tide of Peons ran inside the keep as they screamed their heads off. ‘Death has come, death has come!’ they shouted as a mantra. Before the warlord could reply the orcling flew through the sky...into the arms of a dark robed orc with a scythe. The young female looked up, whimpering. ‘Do not fret young one.’ The horseman said with a rare smile. ‘I’m here to save you...and avenge your mother.’ This calmed the pup down somewhat. ‘What isssss this treachery?!’ The dragon shouted. ‘Why did he take me sacrificesssss?’ ‘Seize them!’ Gath'Ilzogg shouted and he pointed at the lone horseman. Kar’tal jumped off his steed. ‘Hold on tight, Deathwalker knows where to go, I will be with you shortly.’ He said to the pup, doubting his own words. ‘But-‘ she was interrupted as Deathwalker ran off fast, though made sure she wouldn’t fall off. One part of the oath was fulfilled, the pup would be save. The Death Knight drew his scythe with anticipation as he was going to fulfil the second....revenge. As the orcish warriors ran towards him he grinned. He cried out a mighty battlecry and struck the first Orc, decapitating him, as he used his powers to freeze many to the ground. He took out a bottle of a dust and threw it on the ground. As the dust went over the battlefield, the ground rumbled. The orcs held their weapons at the ready as a skeletal arm popped out of the soil. It was soon followed by others as dozens of skeletons crawled out. ‘Death has come for you and the Blackrock clan, Gath'Ilzogg!’ Kar’thal’s voice sounded through the valley; ‘Make your amends to your dark gods and false idols, by the end of the day your souls will be mine!’ Kar’thal led the assault into the Blackrock’s battle line, followed by more skeletal warriors. The dragon roared loudly and joined the battle as he inhaled loudly. As he exhaled a steam of magma covered most of the field, disintegrating both Orc and Skeleton. The Death Knight sensed something as the dragon flew over... With a smirk he threw a fallen axe at the dragon, hitting it on the paw. The dragon roared loudly as his attention was drawn. ‘You will me be my appetisssssser!’ The dragon flew towards the Death Knight with his maw open. Kar’thal merely stood there as the dragon neared. With one mighty bite the Death Knight was swallowed along with a large force of his skeletal warriors. ‘Warlord, the Death Knight has been destroyed!’ a Grunt proudly proclaimed. Gath'Ilzogg smacked him across the cheek. ‘You fool, if he was destroyed, why would those skeletons still be fighting?!’ He dealt with undead creature before, he knew they kept fighting until their puppet master was destroyed. The valley shook as the dragon cried out in pain. He clutched at his stomach which seemed to disintegrate.’ ‘NO...NOOOO!’ his voice rang through the valley, nearly deafening all. The dragon’s cries went muted when his stomach exploded, his magma tearing through the ruined walls and gallons of blood and intestines coloured the area red. A lone figured dropped from the sky and crashed on the pile of skeletons that assembled on that spot. Though it destroyed many of them, it cushioned his fall. Kar’thal grinned and walked towards the Warlord. Gath'Ilzogg cried out his battle shout and ran towards the undead warrior with his axe drawn. Kar’thal replied with a cry of his own and charged as well. Both leaders were followed by their forces into one final clash of arms. Kar’thal raised his scythe into the arm as the Warlord raised his axe to meet it. Many hours later ‘Commander Aggro'gosh, we have mount heading this way!’ a guard shouted over. The commander walked over to the wall. ‘Which mount?’ ‘A Death Knight’ steed, sir.’ The grunt replied. ‘It has a small rider!’ The Commander gave the word to let the steed in, gasping with the others as they saw it was but a small female orcling who was mounted on it. A female orc took the orcling in her arms. ‘Is she all right Thysta?’ Aggro'gosh asked. She nodded. ‘Tired and thin as bone, but all right.’ The Far seer Mok’Thardin and the troll Kin'weelay both walked over. ‘Dis chil’ be blessed by da spirits commandah’!’ the troll spoke. ‘She be one who coul’ be one o’ da shaman.’ The orc agreed. ‘Zug zug, Commander.’ Mok’thardin nodded. ‘We’ll see, right now let’s feed her.’ Thyista took her the zeppelin tower. When the Commander went to see the mount they saw it was already running of. Aggro’gosh gazed thoughtfully as he saw a robed figure stood on the hill, mounting the steed, glancing back one last time at where the pup was before they ran off into the distance. The end.
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