Yagyu’s RP During TFoL

Best I can do since I can't post on the forums until my WoW account gets reactivated.
-Yag

*the parchment stuck to the floating timber of a storm-wrecked ship as the waves lapped against it on the beach of near Grom’Gol.*

Dear Anelia,
I write this missive to you by the fading light of the candle in the cabin of my ship. I know that I have too long been away from you my dear and I promise to return home soon. I will bring with me, gifts for you that will spark your imagination and wonderment. I have been to the remote, rumored islands far from the coasts of Kalimdor. There did I spend many a day and night hunting the exotic animals there.

It is a peaceful place far from the madness that rages throughout Azeroth. I have met former soldiers, freebooters and Horde but never was I molested. Something in common they all have, who exist there. It is almost sad. While each of them I saw appeared to be warriors hardened by battle, they all lacked that spark of life in their eyes. Alas, it seemed to me that I had passed into the lands of the dead. Had I not spoken to many of them, I would not have believed them to be among the living.

Alliance soldiers were there in rags, where once plated armor rest. Their noble bearing and zeal for life was now gone. On one island I even saw remnants of the once feared Horde. I recall one day as I was trading pelts for supplies from a Troll village (something I would never dare in Azeroth), I was startled by a hulking figure moving behind me. I was shocked and not a little frightened to see a large Orc pass me by. He was a massive thing but I relaxed as I saw he had no axe. In fact, his arm was a mangled mess of torn muscle and tendon. The creature seemed to ignore it as he bent over a barrel of water for a drink. As he raised up and looked at me I feared he might toss the massive barrel at me, but the look in eyes was something I had never seen before in one of those vile creatures. It was an almost human look of…sadness. I know it may seem insane but the fanged beast actually seemed to look right through me with hollow eyes. After seeing his eyes, I could barely imagine he had ever raised an axe in his life. Imagine my shock when I saw that the thing was missing a tooth right in the front of his dripping mouth. Slowly he turned and trudged away into a hut decorated with a tattered black rag. The Alliance destruction of the Blacktooth Grin at Ironforge all those months ago must have been as complete as the stories said. Never would I have imagined that we would find ourselves living in a time of such peace and tranquility as I imagine we will find upon my return, beloved.

I pray Elune keep you safe. I will see you again soon.

Your husband,
Andor

*A passing Troll noticing the parchment, stoops to pick it up. Unable to decipher it, he runs towards the gate of Grom’Gol. Perhaps he could sell this thing for a few gold and finally buy that gleaming axe he had been slavering over for weeks.*

"What do you mean, do I want to buy this piece of paper??"
The speaker was a wizened troll, and a respected officer of the restored Blacktooth Grin clan. Head of the Painted Tusk tribe of the Amani, he was currently in Grom'Gol as a contact with the local tribes, recruiting to fill the missing ranks in the Grin regiments.
"This be a map to TREASURE, brother, you dont want to miss out!" said the troll in their native language, holding out the shred of parchment proudly.
"Huh. Fair enough." with that, Pokes leveled the young troll with a heavy backhanded blow, and scooped up the paper with out a glance at the felled fisherman. Reading it carefully, he formed the complicated Common words slowly in his mouth, translating the letter after some effort.
"Well, well, what do you know." the teen laying on the floor stared up at him in terror, having spied Pokes' officer insignia from his new perspective on the hard packed dirt of the tavern. "You were right. This is of some value to me. Here, take this." as the troll tossed a couple of coins to the dirt, he added "Go back to the island where you found this. There should be an orc there missing an arm. Tell him his clan is restored and he is welcome to rejoin them. If you bring him back, I will pay you a Chief's reward."
As the fisherman scrambled off clutching the coins to his chest, Pokes shook his head in wonder.
Who could the orc survivor be?

The young troll sat in Grom’gol for a long time thinking. He knew that the word of an officer of the Blacktooth Grin was as good as the gold he promised. His problem was how to get it. He had no idea where this island was but there was no way he would ever get that gold if he couldn’t find it and this mysterious orc mentioned in the letter. But how to find him?
Damn orcs! He thought. They were running around like chickens all over Azeroth until you needed to find one, then they were as rare as that axe he saw in Ogrimmar. He knew he would never see that axe in his own hands if he couldn’t figure this puzzle out.

Zaa’nu, as he was known in his village, walked along the beach thinking this problem over until he came upon the same spot where he found the parchment. There was still plenty of shipwreck strewn about the beach. Methodically, he began to search through the debris looking for some clue as to the origins of the ship. That was when he saw it…a small copper tube. Zaa’nu picked it up and rolled it over in his hands. Finding a small latch he popped it open and shook the contents out into his hand. Inside was a small glass vial. It looked very similar to the ones he saw in the witchdoctors hut back in his village. The only difference was in the material of it. This was like no glass he had ever seen. It was black and somewhat opaque and light to the touch but obviously very strong. Where could it have come from?

Well, if nothing else it was a start. If he could find the origin of this vial it might lead him to the island and the reward he sought so greedily. Quickly he ran back to his boat to find a troll who could tell him where to find vials of this sort.

The sun seemed to burn his eyes as the orc emerged from the hut. Blinking and trying to clear the sleep from his eyes, he searched the outside of the hut for his fishing pole. It was not in its usual spot, leaning against the side of the small thatched troll-hut that he now called home. “Stupid tuskers!” the orc thought to himself as he vainly looked for his pole. Most likely, one of the local youngsters had taken it and thought he would be able to return it before he awoke. Just then he saw a shiny object behind a battered wooden chest and he felt relief flood through him as he realized the pole had simply fallen behind the large chest. Retrieving the pole, the orc trudged off through the village to the small lake at the center of the island. The local trolls had long ago ceased to annoy him with their dim-witted banter and he now resignedly returned the greetings they extended to him as he walked through the center of the small village. Although he was not unfriendly, they knew better than to try to accompany the orc when they saw him heading out to the lake with his fishing pole. The only troll who had tried had been beaten within an inch of his life with that vicious rod. Even though the orc’s right arm hung limply at his side, the left still had more than enough strength left in it to send the tusker crawling back to the witchdoctor’s hut. And so, they watched him go off on his weekly, solitary ritual walk, knowing he would return with enough fish for the evening’s village feast.

The sun had begun to dip a bit behind the line of trees as the orc sat with his back propped against a large rock waiting for that tug on the fishing line that would signal a bite. He looked across the lake and closed his eyes… Instantly he was transported back to smaller lake in front of a crumbling Keep in Azeroth. A warm fire blazed and the smell of broiling fish permeated the air. The laughter of his friends seemed to echo in his mind as he recalled the scene. “Do it again Yag! Show Yalim!” The female tauren clapped and giggled as he began to pace back and forth in front of her. The thin Blood Elf next to her watched in anticipation of whatever it was that obviously amused the druid so much. Affecting his best tauren accent, the orc started to mimic the voice of their group leader, Faquarl. “Now Burkhas….” He paused with dramatic effect and paced a bit more. “I expect nothing but the best out of you all!” …more pacing… “Let me tell you the one thing I expect out of you. Discipline and hard work! Oh wait…that’s two things…” At this, Felora and Yalim doubled over in laughter as Eddard and Breadalbane stared in obvious confusion. Between guffaws, Yalim managed to sputter, “It’s a Bhurka thing…you wouldn’t understand.” Yagyu grinned at his friends.

Had any troll dared to creep close enough, he would have been able to see the faintest traces of a smile appear at the corners of the orc’s mouth. But it disappeared as quickly as it had come as the orc opened his eyes again. A shooting pain had stabbed through his arm and it sent a fiery arrow straight through to his heart as he remembered other scenes. Standing amid a pile a fallen Blacktooth Grin in front of Bronzebeard’s Hall, he could still feel the anxiety as he slashed and hacked at the unending swarm of dwarves that came to meet his flashing axe. His eyes searching over the tops of their heads to where Gorfrunch should have been but all he could see were Alliance banners. He saw Yalim drop under a paladin’s blade but could not reach him. He watched helplessly as Felora and Faquarl were mobbed by a horde of dwarven guards. Then he too was finally brought to the ground. He could still see the paladin’s mallet as it came crashing down on the arm that held his axe. He could still feel the searing pain as two Alliance warriors drove their blades into the flesh and muscle of the now smashed limb. It was a cruel twist of fate that made them kick him into the tram tunnel rather than give him a true warrior’s death. Why they had left him for dead he still did not know. His memory of how he finally escaped was still hazy with the loss of blood. But one thing he felt then as he felt now was the pang of guilt; would that he had died in that spot with his Warchief rather than survived only to sit here on this godforsaken rock.

With a sigh, Yagyu pushed the unwanted memories back into a small corner of his mind as he rose and picked up his basket of fish. There would be plenty for the troll feast, as there always was. He would eat, but like every week, he would not enjoy it. Slowly he ambled off back in the direction of the village ready to face another day empty of purpose in his life.

((Thanks man. Feel free to jump in if you like anytime))

The same sun that dipped below the trees surrounding Yagyu’s island also beat mercilessly upon Zaa’nu’s head driving the young troll to near delirium. He cursed his own stupidity for having gone out so far without enough water and provisions for such a journey. His mouth was dry and his tongue seemed fixed to the roof of his mouth, but his hand was clenched around the rudder of the small boat that pushed its way through the waves of the sea. Bad as things were, the promise of reward kept Zaa’nu going. He held onto consciousness as he dreamed of returning with a token of his completed mission to the officer of the Blacktooth Grin. “Well done, young troll!” he could almost hear Huizopotl say. “We gonna make you a membah o’ da Grin right away! No grothood fo’ you! And here’s you reward too!” He imagined the battle hardened troll giving him a large chest bursting at the seams with gold and jewels. This thought alone kept his eyes fixed on the horizon.
“Go to Steamwheedle Port in Tanaris.” the witch doctor at his village had told him. “From der, take a boat an’ head due east into da ocean. When the sun be at its lowest, you be headin’ straight fo’ it! Den you find de island where ‘dis come from.” The wizened old troll held the small vial up for Zaa’nu to see.
Now, as Zaa’nu sailed along, he nearly fell out of the boat in his exhaustion. As the waves lapped against the boat, he swore he saw fish jumping out of the water into his boat. Crazily he tried to grab at them only to find they were figments of his now crazed imagination. Slowly but surely, his grip on life drained away as the sun dropped below the horizon.

Later that night----

A loud crunch signaled the arrival of the small boat on the rocky shore of the forgotten island. The sound was heard by a passing troll who decided to investigate only to find the lifeless body of a young troll inside thin and completely dehydrated. The troll pulled the boat up onto the beach and eased the limp body out of the boat and carried it back to the village. Perhaps he could be saved? That was a decision for the village doctor to determine.

Yag woke annoyed as the commotion outside the thin walls of his thatched hut penetrated his eardrums. The trolls must be on about something he thought crossly. As usual, all these tuskers did was make noise, cackle like idiots, and eat his fish. Still, they had been kind to him and had done their best to repair his shattered arm. Not that he had really cared whether it ever healed or not, but their kindness was not lost on the orc. It was this thought which got him up off his sleeping mat and pushed him outside to satisfy his curiosity.

Entering into the sunlight he noticed a good portion of the village standing around the outside the hut of Mith’jin, the village elder. She was an old troll priestess who had seen combat in the Second War. It was she who had taken Yagyu in when he first arrived to her island. She had never pushed him to talk about his past but only tried to heal his wounds and gave him a place in their village. In many ways, she reminded Yagyu of Zinda and the orc paid her the same respect that he would have paid to the former Grin officer. He always made sure to save the biggest and tastiest fish for her when he returned from his fishing trips. Sometimes he would even cook them up for her with his special spices. He had nothing else to offer her for her protection and hospitality.

As he walked up to the gathered throng, he tried to peek between the forest of ears and tusks so what the commotion was all about. Lying on a mat in front of Mith’jin’s hut was dead troll. The creature couldn’t have been more than 19 or 20. His skin was bone dry and cracked from deadly exposure to the sun. He looked more like one of Yag’s fried fish than a troll. Mith’jin shuffled out of her hut with a handful of vials. He watched as she bent over the troll and began to rub a salve over the top of his head.

A bystander, seeing Yagyu’s interest addressed him, “Who knows if ‘dat boy gonna live. But if annaone save ‘im, it be Mith’jin. Joo should know ‘dat most of all, eh?” The troll motioned to Yag’s arm for effect. Reflexively he looked at the arm hanging at his side. Sometimes, he thought he could almost feel it move if he concentrated hard enough. Although it was a painful reminder of the treachery at Ironforge, he knew it was also testament to Mith’jin’s ability as a healer. The poison that had destroyed his axe-wielding arm should have killed him outright. It was only because of his iron constitution and Mith’jin’s knowledge that he stood there today. “Ey tusker, who izzat anyways?” he asked the nosy troll. The troll just shrugged, replying “Who knows mon? I heard he washed up onna beach last night in a little boat. Who knows what gets into ‘da heads o’ dese young-ones, eh?” Yag could only nod and grunt. Well, he was already awake and decided it might be worth the walk to go look over the troll’s boat. It would at least give him something to do today other than stare at the walls of his hut and watch the trolls play-fighting in the center of town. He turned and walked back to the hut and saddled up Grimfang. Clambering onto the back of the worg, he headed off down the coast to look for the troll’s boat.

Faquarl and his force had made camp right on the border of Zangarmarsh and Blades Edge Mountains. The towering spikes loomed high above their camp in the swamps. Faquarl held the Sliver of Orodur in his hands. It seemed to have weakened since power since the Battle of Telredor.

He had an idea on how to charge it though. And maybe then he could give Arkonn his sight. Remove the taint from Felora. And maybe... if they could find the body... maybe the staff could resurrect his lieutenant...

"The answers you seek lie in Shadowmoon..."

The familiar guiding voice rang in his ears. Then he would go to Shadowmoon, and his dreams would come true.

Grimfang slowed to a halt near the small wooden boat. It was still in good shape. No structural damage could be seen from the outside. Yag was not much of a sailor but he enough to tell if a boat would still float or not. Carefully he inspected the interior. He wasn’t even certain what he was looking for. Normally, he wouldn’t even have bothered to come out all this way to the far side of the island but something deep in his mind told him that there was a purpose for checking this little boat. Inside the boat he found a few of Zaa’nu’s personal effects. There was a small compass, a map of Azeroth, a few empty wrappers that had probably contained food, and a small pouch containing a few gold coins and a copper tube. It seemed a large amount of money for a troll who was obviously so young…too young to be out alone on the open sea. Yag shook the copper tube and hearing a rattling found the latch and opened it. Out fell a black vial into his hand. Peering at it closely Yag thought it was similar to the vials of cure-all that Mith’jin had used to heal him of the poison. Hoisting himself back into the saddle Yagyu rode back to the village to give the items to Mith’jin.

When he returned there was no change in the young troll’s condition. Walking into the hut Yag dropped the pouch and the copper tube on a bench. Mith’jin simply looked at him. Answering her unspoken question, Yag said, “It’s just in case he ever wakes up again.” Without another word he returned to his hut. Entering the hut, Yag looked around. There wasn’t much there. His bedroll, a bench, and a chest that held his torn tabard and his armor. As he sat down he studied the compass and the map. He looked at the outlines of the continent that he knew so well. Why had the troll come out all this way he wondered? He couldn’t be sure but somehow he felt that he was meant to find the troll’s boat. Maybe it was time for him to leave the island and walk once more in the lands where he used to roam. Absently he fingered the compass as he made up his mind. He stood up and began to pack his belongings.

The day was hot as the sun beat upon the little wooden boat that sailed north from the island. Yag was enjoying the feel of the sun on his face and smell of the sea air. His departure from the Troll Island was with little fanfare other than a smile from Mith’jin and a blessing to give him luck on his journey. The old crone had come to feel somewhat protective of the wounded orc. Not so much because of his physical damage, but because she knew the pain that he carried with him from his past. Although he had never spoken of it, she knew of the destruction of the Grin at Ironforge and she could see how much it had affected the warrior. To lose one’s clan was bad enough, but when the clan was also the only family that one had…well…that was a wound that could not be healed so easily. So she packed him some supplies for his trip and sent him off on the journey that she knew he would someday make. As he walked out of her hut with a grunt of thanks, she smiled, knowing that wherever his road took him, it was his destiny to go travel there.

It was dusk as the faint outlines of land began to show against the red and orange horizon. Yag was heading West and with any luck, his seamanship skills were not yet so poor that he could not follow a map and compass. As the land grew closer, the outline of a port became visible. He could see figures walking and movement there. It was a small port and somewhat quiet. There were no ships visible and as he drew closer he realized where he was. It was Steamwheedle Port, the same place where he had left from so long ago. This was a good sign he thought. Mith’jin’s blessing must have done some good for him to end up here with no trouble rather than floating for days along an empty sea. He would stop here and rest for the night and tomorrow he would figure out what to do. He had been gone so long he didn’t know how to live in the world anymore.

As he approached the dock, a goblin came out from the port house to moor his boat. The goblin waved as Yagyu’s boat bumped against the dock. Grabbing the rope Yag tossed to him and the Goblin tied it to a post. “Hey, yer out kinda late aintcha Greenie?” Yag nodded and gathered his pack and led Grimfang off the boat. “Yew gotta place fer me ta lay up tonight, shortie?” he asked. The goblin motioned to the port house. “Just tie up your worg out front and you can have some floor inside there. It isn’t too big but there’s a fire and food if you’re hungry. Go tell Yorba I sent you” With that the goblin walked back along the pier as Yagyu headed towards the port house.

The interior of the port house was nothing fancy but it was enough for the orc. His arm was already starting to ache and he needed to rest. Inside he saw a small female goblin. Yew Yorba?” He grunted. “That’s me.” She replied. “Come in and sit down.” As Yag sat at the small table, the goblin looked him over appraisingly. He was certainly no spring-chicken. This was obviously an orc that had seen battle, but he wore no tabard that she could see. “You hungry? I just made a batch of Undermine Clam Chowder if yer interested.” Yagyu nodded his assent and pulled the hood of his cloak off his head. The cloak was an expensive one, the goblin noted, so he could obviously pay for his meal. Funny though, it seemed to hang at an odd angle off his right shoulder. Just then Yagyu noticed her staring at him. His glare made her turn away quickly and fiddle about with the chowder pot. “The goblin outside said yew could put me up fer the night, izzat right?” Yag asked. Yorba nodded as she replied. “Not a problem sir. As long as you don’t bring any trouble on your heels it’s no problem at all.” Yag said, “Well, I jes came from the islands so I don’t think yew gonna have no trouble frum me.” Yorba set a hot bowl of chowder in front of the orc and went back to the counter as he began to slurp the chowder. As he ate, she tried to make conversation. “So what clan are ya with warrior?” she asked, as she dried an ale mug. Yag didn’t answer right away and Yorba filled the silence with more talk. “It’s just that you obviously look like you’ve seen a few battles and I even though you aren’t wearing a tabard now, it’s obvious that you’re used to having warriors follow you into battle.” To emphasize her point she pointed at the officer designation on his cloak. Absently, Yag toyed with the spoon in the bowl. “I ain’t got no clan” he growled, clearly not liking the question. Finishing with the chowder, he pushed the bowl away and stood up. “Where can I bed down?” Not wishing to annoy him further, Yorba pointed to a small alcove in the wall with a bedroll in it. “Sleep there. It’s close to the fire and it’ll keep ya warm.” Yag nodded, dropped a few coins on the table and walked out to Grimfang to get his own bedroll. He would get a good night’s sleep and then decide what to do with the rest of his life in the morning.

It had rained that night and Yag awoke to the smell of wet dust in the Tanaris air. Crawling out of the sleeping alcove, he stretched and looked around. The room was empty and light shone in through the open door. He found a piece of raw hyena meat and walked outside to feed Grimfang. Yorba was outside and to his surprise was putting pan with clean water in front of the worg. Hearing him come out, Yorba waved. “I thought he might be thirsty out here. It rained anyway and that leaky roof filled up this pan nice. No sense lettin’ it go to waste!” Yag tossed the meat to the hungry worg. “Yew don’t git much visitors ‘round here do ya?” he asked the goblin. She shrugged, “Every so often folks come by sailing from one place to another. Just the other week, we had tauren and two blood elves pass through and then two days later, a troll. But most folk use the port at Ratchet for traveling.” Hearing the mention of the troll sparked curiosity in the orc’s mind. He pointed to the boat and asked Yorba, “Did the tusker come in that?” The little goblin looked the boat over and nodded, then suspiciously eyed the orc. Sensing her thoughts Yagyu gave her a dismissive look. “I ain’t no thief shorty! The stupid little tusker washed up on our island a few days ago. As a matter ‘o fact, I wuz tryin’ ta figger out whut he wuz lookin’ fer. Yew got a guess?” She shook her head. “He didn’t say much other than that he was searching for someone. Didn’t say who though and he kept to hisself. He seemed kinda young to be out running around in these parts though.” She thought for a minute then said, “He was probably being chased by someone. Lotsa Alliance around these parts lately. Too many if ya ask me.” Yag grunted and started to pack his gear in his saddle bags. “So I guess I should avoid Gadgetzan then, eh?” Yorba shrugged, “It don’t matter. Pinkies will be around wherever you go. It isn’t like the old days when clans like the Blacktooth Grin roamed around slaughtering Alliance every week.” Yag’s back stiffened at the mention of his clan but he continued securing his bedroll in the saddlebags. Finally he said, “Well those days are dead. Jus’ like the Grin.” Yorba had a puzzled look on her face and was about to reply when they both saw a dust cloud in the distance growing steadily closer. As they stared, five horsemen materialized on the horizon, heading for the port.

The horsemen riding into Steamwheedle port were not the friendliest sort. The two dwarves were quiet and their keen eyes swept the area for signs of trouble. Their three human companions were a little more boisterous. They were laughing at some private joke as they rode into the goblin hamlet. They were met by a small goblin at the entrance to the port house. “What can I do for ya?” asked Yorba cheerfully. The larger of the three men dismounted from his horse and walked up to Yorba. At 6 feet tall he towered over the tiny goblin. He had long black hair and a mustache that barely hid a cruel smile. It was the type of grin normally found on a man who enjoys preying on the weaker members of his race. Haughtily, he looked down at Yorba. Poking a grimy finger at the goblin he began his interrogation. “What you can do for me, you tiny greenskined freak, is get 5 ales from that stinking shack you call a hut over there for me and my friends. It’s been a long ride and we’re thirsty. Killing Dread Horde in Outland is thirsty work!” His two friends thought this comment was very funny indeed as they guffawed at their leaders comment. The two dwarves remained silent as their eyes scanned the port. Something seemed to catch the eye of one of them. He hopped off his horse and walked over the piece of ground where Grimfang had been tethered and began to examine the ground. Yorba was returning with 5 mugs of ale when she saw the redheaded dwarf call the leader of their group over to the patch of ground where the worg had been not 15 minutes before. “Lookahere laddie. There’s been a worg ‘ere not long ago. By the looks a these tracks he was either fat or carried a big orc on ‘es back.” The big human took this in for a moment and scratched his beard. “A hordie out by ‘isself in this desert?” he mused. He walked back to where Yorba stood with the ale and grabbed a mug from her and took a big swig. Wiping his mouth he looked at the goblin. “What of it, tiny? Was it an orc out here? Was he alone?” Yorba was handing the mugs to the rest of the group and hesitated before answering. “He said he was meeting some friends coming in from Gadgetzan. I’m surprised you didn’t pass him as you came in.” The big human looked at her with some disbelief before returning to the dwarf. The dwarf met his gaze and shook his head. “Na laddie, these tracks head south towards the cove.” Pausing, the dwarf appeared to take a measure of the worg track. He looked up at Yorba. “Ye sure it was just one? Did ‘e have a tabard?” he asked. Yorba simply stared back unresponsively. She wouldn’t tell this runt of a stinking dwarf a damn thing. Especially if he wasn’t going to pay for the ale. The leader tossed the mug back at the little goblin. “What does it matter Gurvin? If he does have a clan, they sure aren’t around, so what’re we waiting for? Let’s go give that orc a taste of steel!” Laughing they mounted their steeds. The dwarf, Gurvin gave Yorba a long stare before turning away. The goblin knew something and her silence bothered him. Turning, he rode to catch up with his companions as they headed into the blowing sands of the desert.

Zaa’nu woke to the sight of wizened old troll priestess staring down at him. “Joo be a lucky one! Joo almost din’t make it.”
The young troll looked around trying to get a handle on his new surroundings. His throat was recovering slowly and as he tried to speak, a few words were all he was able to croak out. “…orc…gold…Grin” The effort obviously tired him and the priestess tried to sooth him. “Don’ try to say no more. Joo talk bettah tomorrow.” The last thing he remembered before he fell back to sleep was Mith’jin rubbing a salve on his throat.

Yag stopped at the base of the rocky hill jutting out of the desert sand. Crawling up the rocks he pulled a spyglass from his pack. It was the same one that Gorfrunch had once given him. It had been a long time since he had held it and standing on the rocky outcropping peering into the distance reminded him of when he had used it on the hill overlooking Stromgarde Keep. Only this time, instead of a raging mass of zealot pink-skins dropping in waves on a grassy hill, he saw the vague forms of five riders following his tracks. So they had divined which way he had gone. Well, he would have a surprise waiting for them.
There appeared to be two dwarves and three men. Dirty rotters, he thought to himself. Seeing the dwarves made Yagyu’s blood boil. The slaughter inside the halls of Ironforge had only increased his hatred of the stout little ale-drinkers. Putting the spyglass back into his pack he took in his surroundings. There were two large rocky hills in this section of desert and a narrow path formed between the two of them. Seeing some large boulders Yag scrambled up to where they sat and moved them towards a small ledge overlooking the passage. He spent the next half hour moving these boulders into position then he ran back down the hill to where Grimfang waited. Mounting the worg, Yag rode through the narrow pass then dismounted around a right-turn bend and hitched the worg to a large rock. Crawling back up the opposite side of the rocky hill he sat to await the arrival of the riders.

Zaa’nu had recovered well. Even Mith’jin was impressed with her own abilities; saving this one had been more difficult even than saving the orc. She made sure to give him liquid in small doses so as not to damage his throat. When he had finally recovered enough strength he told her his story. As he told her of his search for the one-armed orc, she quickly realized the impact of his words. When he had finished, the old crone simply stared at him and began to laugh. “Joo young’uns! Joo tink joo so smart.” Zaa’nu stared at her uncomprehendingly. “Dat orc joo seek…” she managed to squeak out in between laughter “he took joo boat back to Kalimdor!” This nearly sent her over the edge as she coughed and wheezed in between her guffaws. Slowly realization dawned on the face of the young troll. He had been so close only to have his goal now so far out of reach. How would he ever find the orc now? There was only one way. He had to find a new boat and make his way back to Kalimdor and try to pick up the orc’s trail. That would be the only way he could ever claim the treasure he surely deserved.

A good forty minutes had passed as the riders came ever closer. Putting the spyglass to his eye Yag saw them nearing the hill. This time, however, something was different. There were only three riders. Where had the other two gone? He could no longer see the two dwarves. Where had they gone? Could they have split the search party and gone to look for him in Gadgetzan? Slowly he scanned the horizon but could see nothing of the two. Wherever they had gone, the three men were still heading towards the pass. Yag decided to stick to his original plan. Either the dwarves would show up later and he would deal with them or they would not.

Hiding behind the boulders he had carefully stacked, Yagyu waited and watched as the riders entered the pass. Suddenly they hesitated. Had they seen him? Were they wary? Agonizing seconds ticked by but finally they resumed their trek through the narrow passageway. Just as the approached the ledge Yag leapt up and heaved against the boulders with all his strength. His weight pushing against them toppled them over the ledge and sent them crashing towards the three pink-skins down below. He could hear their cries of shock and terror as the rocks fell on top of them. Just as he looked over the edge to survey the damage, he suddenly heard a loud crack and instantaneously felt a slamming pain in leg. He roared in pain and shock and looked over his left shoulder to see the dwarves reloading a gun. So, they had let their companions be the bait! Yag knew he had to do something. Diving behind a boulder he pulled a set of throwing knives from his pack. He had four. He had been good with these once but that was before he had lost the use of his right arm. How well he would throw with his left remained to be seen. He could hear their whispered speech as they crept towards him. Quickly stepping from behind the rock he threw the first of the knives. It was a poorly aimed throw and it sailed harmlessly above the head of the dwarves. They saw his clumsy attempt and fired another shot which cracked off the boulder near his face, sending rock shards against into his cheek. Yag ignored the bullet and aimed as best he could. Throwing a second blade he watched as it whistled through the air and embedded itself in the redheaded dwarf’s left eye. Screaming the dwarf dropped his rifle and clawed frantically at the knife stuck in his eye socket. His companion was unmoved by the screams of his friend as he reached for the discarded rifle, but Yag’s third blade found its way into his upper arm. Just as he recoiled from the pain of it, the last blade hit him in the throat. A lucky shot indeed but it was enough to sever the dwarf’s windpipe and he dropped to the ground gurgling as his life-blood leaked away. Seeing his success sent a surge of adrenaline through Yagyu’s body and he began to feel the rage boil up within him. He rushed the redheaded dwarf. Knowing that danger was coming, the dwarf had managed to pull the blade from his eye and draw his own axe. This dwarf was no novice warrior and he knew how to keep his head in battle, but Yagyu ignored the threat. Charging at the dwarf he threw his shoulder into his chest before the dwarf could get a full swing with his axe. The force of the charge dropped the axe and it clattered down the hill to the sand below. Yag felt the dwarf underneath his body now and as he smelled the sweat and blood he flew into a rage. Picking up a nearby rock he smashed it into the side of the dwarf’s head. The blow dazed Gurvin and he frantically put his arms up to block the hammer blows that kept coming at his face. He resisted as best he could but as drops of blood spattered against Yag’s face the orc’s fury grew stronger. Soon the dwarf’s resistance slowed and finally stopped but the orc did not. He thought of Faquarl, his team leader and friend. The planner who had masterminded their move to Taugrek’s Stand and their bloody campaign against the Dark-Iron Dwarves. He saw the laughing faces of Felora, Arkonn and Yalim illuminated by a campfire. He saw Stokes and Breadalbane, mighty tauren smiting Alliance as they stood on the roof of the Keep of Menethil. His thoughts flashed from face to face: Jesslyn, Bellmont, Grimnir, Pokes, Eddard; all of his now long dead clan-members. Roaring with hate, he continued to bash the dwarf’s head into a bloody pulp until his chest heaved and sweat poured from his brow.

When the rage had subsided, Yagyu let the blood-soaked rock drop from his hand. Finally he stood and headed down the hillside to where the men had been crushed by the boulders. Their mangled limbs stuck out from underneath the boulders at odd angles and Yagyu searched through what pockets he could find for anything useful. He had no idea why they had come after him but it hardly mattered now anyway. He found some rolls of netherweave and began to bandage his leg where the dwarf bullet had lodged itself. Perhaps Yorba knew something of medicine. At least he could rest there for a while. Limping back to where Grimfang waited, he mounted the worg and headed back toward Steamwheedle Port.

.......
It was late in the evening when Zaa’nu finally saw the lights on the shore. It looked like a small port but he was tired and hungry. It would have to do. Piloting the little skiff he headed toward the single pier of the port. There didn’t appear to be anyone nearby. Wearily he climbed onto the dock and began to secure the skiff. He saw a small house with light in the window and he hoped they had plenty of food inside. Had it been lighter and had he not been so tired, he might have noticed his own little wooden boat docked nearby as he walked down the pier to the port house.

Yagyu hadn’t felt this good in ages. Though the adrenaline had subsided, the bloodlust that had filled him still lingered in his veins and he felt strangely alive. It was the first time in months that he hadn’t simply wallowed in the sadness of the loss of his clan. The rock in his hand and the feel of the dwarf’s skull caving in had satisfied the orc in a way that all his time on the troll island hadn’t. He had been so engulfed in the rage that it almost felt as if he could have raised his mangled arm to strike the dwarf. He grinned to himself as he thought of how he had led his pursuers into the trap. If the rest of the Bhurkas could have been there it would have been a delicious victory. As he topped the next dune he could see the silhouette of Steamwheedle port against the horizon. There would be food, drink and medicine for him there. In happier times, a victory like this would have been celebrated in style. He thought back to Brill and Faquarl, half drunk on rum, challenging him to duel. The old druid always had a trick up his sleeve. Just when Yag had figured out a tactic to counter his defenses, he seemed to come up with a new one. Yagyu chuckled to himself as he remembered fighting his way though those damn entangling roots, finally breaking free and charging Jo in a rage only to find through his drunken stupor that he had actually run smack into a tree. Those were the days.
Faquarl…why was he thinking about him now? All of these long months and for some reason he had a nagging feeling in the back of his brain that he just couldn’t pinpoint. It was almost as if some unseen force guided his subconscious thoughts. He reasoned that it was the exhaustion that was the cause. He hadn’t slept, eaten or drank enough in a few days. He would have to remedy that tonight. He would lay up at the Port for as long as it took to get back into shape and finally head out for civilization once more. He wouldn’t dwell on the past any longer.

Finally arriving at the Port House, Yagyu tied Grimfang to the post in front of the dirty building. Patting the worg on the head he pulled a Portion of Plainstrider meat from the saddlebag and fed it to the hungry animal. Yag patted him on the head. “Eat up Grim. Ya did gud today.” After placing some fresh water out, Yag entered the house. Walking in, he saw Yorba behind the counter filling a mug with ale. She was in the middle of conversation with a troll sitting at the table. “…was one here just a day ago…” Yorba stopped in mid-sentence as she saw Yagyu in the doorway. The troll who was listening turned to look in his direction and Yagyu was shocked to see the young troll who had nearly died on the island. The troll didn’t recognize the orc of course but Yagyu walked over to him and clapped him on the back. “Yer feelin’ better I see!” “Yorba, gimme one o’ them mugs!” He sat down facing the troll and stared at him. The troll was nervous under the orc’s steely gaze. “How joo know me?” he croaked. Yorba had placed a full mug in front of the orc and was now intently listening to the conversation. Yagyu grabbed up the mug and raised it to the troll. “It wuz yer boat got me here, kid. Figger’d yew wouldn’t need it no more! Har! Bottums-up!” He drained the mug in one draught and waved at Yorba to refill it.
“My boat…?” Suddenly the truth dawned on the young troll as he became aware of the lopsided way the orc’s blood spattered cloak hung strangely off his right shoulder. His eyes narrowed as he realized the end of his quest was near.
“What happened to joo arm?” he asked.
At that Yagyu’s face hardened and the good-natured humor left his eyes. Instantly realizing his mistake, Zaa’nu involuntarily seemed to shrink away from the orc. Yag’s ominous silence frightened the troll and he began talking to relieve the tension. Stammering he managed to sputter, “…its just dat I be lookin’ for a one armed orc!” . In a flash Yagyu was across the table gripping the troll by the throat and lifting him up from the table like a rag doll and pinning him to the wall. Squeezing Zaa’nu’s throat slowly he growled “Who toldja ta look fer me, tusker?”
The troll’s words came rolling out like a waterfall now as he struggled to explain himself. “I found a lettah…a troll he paid me! Said to find joo….tell joo….joo can come home!...DON’ KILL ME, MON!”
“Home? Whuddya mean home?” His grip tightened and the troll sputtered, “…said…joo clan restored…sent me…promised to pay…don’….kill…”
As quickly as he had grabbed the troll Yag dropped him. He fell in a heap at his feet. His clan? Could the troll be telling the truth? Had he heard right? Looking at the choking figure on the floor, Yag asked “What clan was he?”
“He was…” he coughed “He was Blacktooth Grin.”

Blacktooth Grin. The name hit him like a ton of bricks. Yagyu felt his stomach drop. His knees weakened and he sank down onto the bench at the table, staring in disbelief at the troll. It couldn’t be, he thought. He had seen them die. He had seen them all die. And yet, he himself had survived. Could it be possible that some had survived too?
As Yagyu sat at the table he turned to see Yorba staring at him. Meeting his gaze, she answered his unspoken question. “It’s true ya know. The Grin still lives. Rumor has it the Warchief returned from the dead.” Yag stared at her unblinking. He could barely speak and even when his throat cleared he could hardly find any words. “How…? When…?” Yorba shrugged. “Maybe a month ago. It’s hard to say, news comes slow to this place.” He could hardly believe it but he knew she was speaking the truth. But if his clan lived, why had they not tried to find him? Did they believe he had died under Bronzebeard’s boot? She stared hard at the orc now. “So you’re one of ‘em. What’s your name?” Yag replied “Yagyu Swobu’gol. I used ta be a Warlord of the Grin. ….before Ironforge that is.” He shrugged his useless right shoulder at the little goblin. “My orcish is rusty.” The goblin said, “What’s the Swobu’gol mean?” she asked. Yag replied “Roughly it means ‘the loyal axe’.”
A movement to his right turned his attention back to Zaa’nu. The troll had regained his composure by now and the initial shock had worn off. His mind had quickly returned to thoughts of profit. Yag looked at him and said “So where did you see this troll?” Zaa’nu relayed his story and Yag instantly knew who the young troll was talking about. Pokes, it had to be Pokes. So Pokes survived…and if he lived there was a good chance that the others had survived as well. “Har!” I knew that tusker was too dense ta’ croak!” Pokes. If Pokes lived and the Chief lived…maybe…no, he thought. No, it was better not to think about it yet. Not until he had seen for himself. Standing up Yagyu turned to Yorba. “I need rations fer a long journey Yorba. Enough ta’ git me to the Eastern Kingdoms. I’ll pick up their trail from there.” Then addressing Zaa’nu, Yag said “Better git some sleep now youngin’. We got us a long trip ahead!”

"Chieftain Gorfrunch Smashblade, deceased?" asked Royal Overseer Bauhaus, holding an inked quill near the page of the charter as he sat on the other side of a desk in the Undercity's Trade Quarter, facing Grand Executor Bellmont with a look of feigned intrest on his face.

Bellmont noded slowly at Bauhaus's question. The swift jerk of the Bauhaus's hand carving a thin black ink line through Gorfrunch's name like the slamming of a coffin.

"Warlod Faquarl Swiftwind, deceased?" asked Royal Overseer Bauhaus, flipping a page and dipping his quill in ink.

Bellmont sighed deeply, nodding reluctantly and wincing as the Overseer's pen carved another jet-black line through the name of a fallen friend and comrade.

"Now. Recently, due to an 'accident' involving a Mage's Apprentice we lost one page of data on your current reports. I do apologise but I must ask again as to the status of the Sythegar Yagyu?" asked Bauhaus, looking up at Bellmont as he flipped through the pages once more.

Bellmont hesitated...

"Unknown." said Bellmont, with some degree of uncertianty in his voice.

Bauhaus cocked his head as if Bellmont had just insulted his mother.

"Really? I recall the original report labeling this one as... deceased." hissed Bauhaus, astonded that anyone would clash with his memory.

"We never found a corpse, or trace of death. It's more then possible that he's alive... somewhere." said Bellmont, voicing a long-buried opinion.

Bauhaus glared,

"I do offer my condolences... to your... 'organization', with the losses you suffered recently. But perhaps, Grand Executor you are but mearly looking for non-existant hope in such dark times." explained Bauhaus in a condescending tone.

"There was no corpse, no broken axe, no bloody stain or cry of death. There is no proof that he is dead, physical or spiritual." said Belmont, this time louder, reasserting himself as a superior in the Undercity to Bauhaus.

Bauhaus recoiled, like a startled rodent.

"Apologies, Grand Executor. Perhaps I've been to bold in my assumptions. Reguardless it is impartive that these are filled out. When proof of Yagyu's living... or his death surfaces I request most humbly that you inform me, post-haste." requested the Royal Overseer.

Bellmont nodded,

"I'll get you that information soon... Send a few of our lesser-experienced Stalkers down to the Burning Steppes, have them hunt for any clue of his demise. If they fail to report anything, I will look into this matter, personally. Until then I must return to Garadar, I have far more urgent matters that I must attend." said Bellmont, with a nod.

"Very well, I will inform her majesty of your troop movements as soon as possible. Good luck in your future endevors, Grand Executor." repiled Bauhaus, bowing and shuffling his papers together, putting them in a file and closing the desk door.

A few Magus's chanted for Bellmont, a portal for Shattarath ripping open in front of him.

Bellmont muttering to himself as he crossed through the portal,
"Many I know have died... and many more will. But yet I still sense that your still drawing breath... somewhere."

The journey back to Grom’gol was not the easiest especially for a one-armed orc and a teenaged troll. Yag had decided to return by land rather than risk another perilous sea journey. They would ride north to Ratchet and then Across the Great Sea to Booty Bay. From there they could ride north to Grom’gol and try to pick up news of the Grin.
The ride was a long one and Yag had time to think about his destination. It was now that the truth of the matter had begun to sink in. When he finally returned, how would his clan react? Would they welcome him back with open arms? What possible use could he be to them now, cripple that he was? And what of the others? Who had survived and who had died? He couldn’t dwell on this thought for too long though. Losing his clan once was enough. He could not torture himself with thoughts of losing them again.

They two travelers had reached the borders of Thousand Needles by nightfall and Yag and Zaa’nu made camp for the evening in the shadows of the towering red-rock cliffs. Sitting back against his bedroll and looking into the dancing firelight, Yag caught Zaa’nu staring at the handle of his war-axe, the handle sticking out from a saddlebag. The protective nelf-skin cloth covering had slipped back revealing a small steel insignia on the handle. The design of a circle enclosing a mangrove tree had caught the young troll’s attention. When he realized the orc had caught him staring he quickly tried to explain himself. “Sorry mon. Ah wasn’t tryin’ ta pry…ah was jus’ lookin’ at dat ting dere. What’s it mean?” Yagyu’s eyes softened a bit as he remembered the trinket. “It were a gift from someone I respected.” He said “She’s long gone now but I keep it as a reminder.” The troll stared at him in innocent curiosity. “Reminder a’ what?” he asked. “Loyalty” said the orc. Slowly he reached across with his good arm and carefully covered the axe and pushed it securely back into the saddlebag. “She gimme that cuz I proved my loyalty to my clan.” The orc looked at the troll with serious eyes. “Loyalty is the most important thing we got in this life, tusker. Remember that. Loyalty to yer clan, loyalty to yer chief, an’ loyalty to yer mates. That’s what’ll keep ya goin’ in battle. It’ll bring ya through hard times. Don’ ferget it.” Zaa’nu said nothing as he looked at the orc’s face. Something about the soft steady stone the orc had used made more of an impact on the troll than the meaty paws around his throat from the evening before. He had been afraid for his life then but tonight…tonight he was listening. Yagyu had said his piece with such sincerity that it gave the troll pause. Perhaps there was more to this orc than just gruff behavior.

The next day saw them on the trail again under the hot sun. They made good time but were careful to avoid the common trails. Evading trouble was foremost in their minds as they continued the long trek towards the goblin port city of Ratchet. Once there however, they would have to take their chances. Perhaps Yag would get lucky and find a friendly face in the crowd. However, the orc had lived long enough to know that discretion was sometimes the better part of valor. They would practice caution.

The dust cloud that materialized at the top of the Great Lift was a dead giveaway. Years spent in battle with his clan told him that a large war party was coming this way. But from so far away he couldn’t tell if they were friend or foe. The cliff face and tauren built lifts obscured them enough to make his spyglass useless. He knew that if it turned out to be a raiding Alliance party, their journey would end all too quickly, and he would never find his clan. He searched about him for some cover but there was so little to be found. The best they could hope for was to ride hard around the nearest bluff and hope that the party was too busy moving to look for random travelers.
It was times like these when the orc wished he could vanish into thin air like his old clanmate Bellmont. …Bellmont… Yagyu wondered what had become of the sneaky rotter. Would he find him alive still? He had been a Bhurka once. A good soldier and a good fighter but there was a time when he wondered if there might be a conflict of loyalty with Bell. As he watched the lift moving down the cliff carrying the first group of raiders, Yag recalled a night in Undercity when he and Bellmont had met near the auctioneer. Bell had been worried and had confided in Yagyu about how the Dark Lady of Undercity would call on him from time to time to serve her wishes. His duties to Sylvannis and to Gorfrunch were causing him some…moral dilemmas. In typical fashion, Yag’s first response was anger and he told Bellmont that his first loyalty was to the clan and that if there was a problem he should tell the Chieftain and Gor would solve it. The orc had never liked the fact that Bellmont maintained his rank as an officer in the Forsaken legions. He had always worried that it would conflict one day with his loyalty to the clan. But he had never let them down,…or had he?

As the lift dropped its passengers it was clear that Yag had been correct in his caution. The group of Alliance raiders jumped off the lift and their steeds broke into a run down the trail in the direction of Freewind Post. Seeing the mass of Alliance troops pass him, the orc felt the anger in him begin to rise up. How he hated their very presence. He hated their smell. He hated their tiny bones. He hated the pinkish hue of their skin. He hated how the air stunk in their wake. Unconsciously he stroked the handle of his dagger as he imagined how it would feel to charge up to one of them and drive the blade into the back of their tiny skull. A smile crept upon his lips as he reveled in the gory hallucination.
“Ah tink dey gone now.” Zaa’nu’s words brought the orc back to reality and he nodded and hopped astride Grimfang, setting off for Ratchet once more.

The number of the Crusade was hard to tell. Easily thirty, perhaps more. Each zealot glared at Nathanos and Bellmont with eyes overflowing with hatred and malice.

"Our hunt is over, Crusaders. We now move in for the kill. We shall purge the Blightcaller from these lands once and for all. And, not only that, but I can see we the honor of killing the Nightlord as well. Truely, the Light shines down on us today brothers. With there deaths we will give a strong blow to the side of-" Grand Inquisitor Isillien's rant was cut off by Bellmont.

"The Nightlord? A bit grandeous in my opinion though I doubt you'd take much in consideration from a 'monster'." yelled Bellmont in perfect common, bringing a sudden silience to the crowd of zealots.

"Silience! Demon, the ability to think does not make an Ogre intelligent just as the ability to speak a real language does not make you human. If your attempting to feign redemption, you've failed. The light can see through your petty disguise, abomination." hissed Grand Inquisitor Isillien.

"Enough of this, it ends now!" cried Nathanos Blightcaller suddenly.

Skeletons began to errupt from the various piles of bones stack about the Marris Stead, the two Blighthounds lept into the fray and began savagely tearing through the scarlets as the raised skeletons attacked from the side.

Bellmont hesitated for a moment, before slipping into the shadows. Comming out behind a Crusader and decapting him with a swift jerk of his sword, Bellmont began whirling and consistantly fading in and out of the shadows.

Mirror images of Bellmont sliced at confused Crusaders as arrows from the Blightcaller filled them.

"RETREAT!!!" Grand Inquisitor Isillien's voice cried, the remainder of the Scarlet Crusade offense falling back off the ridge.

Within moments, it was over. The two of them had wiped through the Scarlet Offense, leaving more food for the Blightcaller's Blighthounds.

"So, Bellmont, what brings you to my home on this most lovely of occasions." said Nathanos Blightcaller jokingly.

"I need you to track something for me." requested Bellmont,

"A fair enough request. I still owe for the Imperial Guard dealing with Rivendare's attackforce when my regiment first set-up shop in these dead lands." replied Nathanos Blightcaller, leaning on the side of his home.

"Good to see your returning favors. I'll make sure to come by more often to make sure your not captured by the Crusade." said Bellmont jokingly,

"Bah, your intervention was unnessecary." argued Nathanos,

"The feeling is mutual, but I digress. I need you to see if you can find a Orc of the Blacktooth Grin. A warrior by the name of Yagyu." asked Bellmont,

"Hmm, shouldn't be to difficult. Why not send one of your little stalkers to find him?" inquired Nathanos,

"Because he may already be dead. Being a Dark Ranger I think talking with the dead and tracking things are two things that fall into your categories quite nicely." answered Bellmont,

"So, if I should find him alive?" asked Nathanos,

"Make a few posion arrows... non-lethal. If you see him, attempt to get one off into him. I'll need him in a... 'rigid' state to inform of the current situation of the Grin without him causing damage." replied Bellmont,

"Very well... where should I start my search?" asked Nathanos,

"Kalimdor. If he's in the Eastern Kingdoms, he's being too quiet to be picked up on my radar, which mean's he's either crippled, dead, or paraylzed. In which case, it might be better if he doesn't learn of what has happened." said Bellmont as Nathanos whistled to his hounds and started to make his way down the path to Tiristfal.

Ratchet was just as he remembered it, a bustling goblin town with travelers from both factions. Freebooters, adventurers, holy men, and merchants all came together here to go from Kalimdor to the Eastern Kingdoms. Yag and Zaa’nu arrived early in the morning when the town was just waking up. After their long and hot ride through the Barrens, they decided to stop at the inn to have a drink. Yagyu was uncomfortable about this but the troll was thirsty and he allowed himself to be swayed in hopes of picking up some loose gossip. Perhaps he could catch the odd conversation and learn more about the fate of his clan.

Tying their mounts in front, the unlikely pair entered the inn and sat at a far table. A goblin waiter appeared to take their order of two ales and a plate of roasted plainstrider. The inn was practically empty so the two took their time eating and resting. A tauren and an orc lounged on some pillows in a corner, drinking and talking. Yag strained his ear to hear their conversation.
“…hard to believe a clan that big would...” said the tauren.
“I wouldn’t say that…but…was never exactly what you’d call stable.” Replied his orc friend.
Yag strained to listen harder without being overly obvious.
“Well it seems the Dread Horde was able to continue their fight regardless.” Said the tauren. “Does that surprise you?”
The orc shook his head, “Naw. They wuz always a tough clan. Had a reputation to uphold and they did. Even if it cost ‘em.”

Dread Horde? Yag had never heard of this Dread Horde before, and yet somehow he sensed that this must have something to do with the Grin. Could they have possibly grown stronger since Ironforge? Despite his caution, Yag had to know more. Telling the troll to stay where he was he got up and walked over to where the two sat.
“Hey. I couldn’t help overhear yer conversation…were you two talking about the Blacktooth Grin?” Yag interjected. The tauren and the orc stared at him in surprise at the interruption. The orc was the first to speak. “Yeah we wuz. Why? You know ‘em?” Yag fought the impulse to tell the truth and managed to tell the orc that he had joined a few of their minor raids in the Arathi Highlands. “Why doncha come join us at our table and share a drink?” Yagyu offered. After some hesitation the tauren and the orc must have decided that Yagyu looked honest enough and they accepted his offer. Sitting at the table, Zaa’nu was a bit startled to see the two sit with them but he said nothing.
Again, the orc was the first to speak “My name’s Draak. Wut’s yers?”
Seeing Zaa’nu about to open his mouth, Yagyu quickly cut him off. “I’m Thrag and this yung’un here is Tel’jin.” Yagyu gave Zaa’nu a hard stare to ensure the young troll got the point.
The tauren introduced himself as Bronyaur and Yagyu ordered another round of ale for everyone. Soon the conversation flowed as easily as the ale.
“So, when did you fight with the Grin?” Yag asked the two.
The tauren replied, “Well we never actually fought with them…we only knew of their reputation. They were most impressive in battle.” Yag nodded at the tauren’s remark but said nothing. Draak spoke up then, “Yeah, it weren’t just any clan whut would break Thrall’s peace. Only the Grin would dare ta do that.”
Yagyu used this opportunity to pull information from the two. Knowingly he nodded then said, “Yeah they were a tough clan awright. Too bad they wuz broken after Ironforge.”
The tauren was the first to respond, “Broken? That was only a setback. As the last few months have demonstrated.” The tauren’s companion nodded in agreement.
This remark piqued Yagyu’s interest. The last few months? Were they raiding again? Trying not to show his excitement Yag steadied himself then said, “Wuddya mean? I don’ get much news so I ain’t heard nuthin’.”
The tauren replied, “They formed up with some other clans and went on a tear into Outlands. The Alliance took to calling them the Dread Horde. I guess they spilled too much pinkie blood!” The tauren started to chuckle at his little joke and was soon joined by Draak and Yagyu. Only Zaa’nu stayed quiet, too nervous to speak.
Emboldened by the good news of his clan, Yag’s questions became more direct. “So where are they now?” he asked.
Draak simply shrugged and took another swig of ale. Bronyaur answered, “I don’t know. I haven’t heard word in a few weeks from there. I know something is going on though because we’ve seen very few of the major clans in Azeroth lately.”
Draak wiped ale froth from his lip, looked at Yagyu and said, “So wut about yew there Thrag? What are yew doin’ roamin’ around with a pipsqueak tusker like this?” Draak pointed his mug in Zaa’nu’s direction.
Zaa’nu bristled at this remark. “Pipsqueak? Who joo callin’ pipsqueak mon?” Draak grinned at the youngsters consternation. Yagyu give Zaa’nu a quick kick under the table and started talking. “Aww we’z just headed out to Grom’gol. This one here says he knows a witchdoctor out there can help fix me up.” Yag shrugged his limp shoulder to emphasize his point. Bronyaur nodded solemnly and said “Yes I can see you need some of their voodoo. I wish you luck in your journey.” Draak stared at Yagyu’s injury and gave him a salute. “Yeh, Stay strong warrior!”
Yagyu nodded in thanks and raised his mug. Finishing the last of his ale Yagyu said “Well thanks fer the conversation. May your blades never dull. C’mon Tel’jin. Let’s git movin’.”
Yagyu dropped a few coins on the table and walked out of the inn followed by Zaa’nu. As they mounted up and headed down the hill to the docks, Zaa’nu asked him why he had gone to the trouble of deceiving them about their identities. “Wouldn’t it be easier to tell ‘em who joo be? Maybe den joo clan find joo.” But Yag just shook his head. “Naw. It’s safer this way kid. Yew never know who might be lookin ta kill ya. ‘An I ain’t exactly lookin’ fer a fight in my condition.” They reached the dock and waited in silence for the boat to take them to Booty Bay and one step closer to the Grin.

The startled Orc starred at the Blightcaller with eyes full of fear.

"S-Sir. Of W--What do we owe the pleasure of your v-v-vist?" said the Orcish Grunt, stuttering on his words as he tried to remember the many infamous legends of the Blightcaller.

"Buisness of the Dark Lady, classified to one such as you." hissed the Blightcaller, stairing into the Orcs eyes and muttering a psuedo curse under his breath, no doubt leaving the poor Grunt to guess of what vile disease or curse he had been plagued with.

The Blightcaller's armored warhorse, Parthenon trotted it's way to the cleft of shadows. A large armored figure suddenly rushing in the Blightcaller's way, causing Parthenon to rear loudly.

"What are you doing here, Blightcaller? Who's commanding the Horde forces in the Plaguelands?" barked Saurfang, glaring at the Forsaken Champion.

(To be continued)

There is a certain stench that permeates the air of a tavern. It is the pungent odor of smoke, sweat, ale, and vomit that has mingled for too long without the benefit of soap and water to erase it. That was the smell that hit Zaa’nu’s nose as he and the orc entered the Salty Sailor Tavern. The Salty Sailor was a notorious stopping ground for all manner of ruffians, pirates, and other lowlifes of Azeroth. Yagyu grinned as he walked once more into the bar he knew so well. How long it had been since he was last here with his friends.
Yagyu’s preferred table near the corner of the room was empty and he put Zaa’nu at the far end where he would be least likely to be accosted by Alliance looking for trouble. Stepping up to the bar he ordered 2 mugs of ale from the barkeep. The boat journey across the sea from Ratchet had been long and tiring and Yagyu needed something to quench his thirst.

He barked at the barkeeper, “Gimme two mugs of yer best stuff. Not that rotgut ya give ta pinkies neither!”

The goblin grabbed two midly clean mugs and held one under the tap of a large keg.

“Where ya coming from?” asked the bartender.

“We’z travelin’ from Ratchet. We heard that there was fighting goin’ on in Outlands. ‘Zat true?”

The goblin looked at the orc over his shoulder. “Yeah the Blacktooth Grin is back at it. Word is Gorfrunch Smashblade returned from the dead and gathered his clan again. The Alliance were pretty worried about it too. They passed through the portal and were geared for war.”

Yagyu tried his best to hide his happiness at the goblin’s words. Instead he simply asked where they were.

The goblin replied, “I heard there’s been reports of fighting from Hellfire, to Nagrand to Shadowmoon Valley. But that’s the last news I’ve heard. They might still be there.”

He finished filling up the last mug and passed them across to the orc. “Ya know, ya might get more recent news at Grom’gol. There’s been a lot of folks headed in and out of there recently. I hear lots of ‘em were involved in the fighting out there. We haven’t had anyone from Outlands pass through here in a couple weeks now.”

Thanking the goblin, Yagyu reached across the bar awkwardly with his good arm and grappled with the two mugs. Balancing them in his hand he walked back to the table where Zaa’nu waited uncomfortably. Had Yagyu been more alert, he might have noticed the dark cloaked figure in the opposite corner of the tavern who peered at him intently as he carried the ale back to the table.

(Contunation, finally)
"The Nightlord, High Warlord." answered the Blightcaller,

"Last we heard he was in Northrend. What's he doing here now?!" High Warlord Saurfang growled,

"He returned, and I decided to take on some other business. It is good to be in a place where your not constantly being attacked. Not like you'd know whats that like." the Blightcaller said, striking at Saurfang's unslaken thirst for battle,

"What business!" barked Saurfang, his voice getting louder and his patience getting shorter with every word.
s
"Business on behalf of Lordaeron's crown, High Warlord." explained the Blightcaller, purposely snide.

"Tell me your true intentions here now, rotter." growled Saurfang,

"Rotter? Such harsh terms among allies is it not? I do wonder what Thrall would think if you adress all of us so kindly upon entering this city." hissed the Blightcaller.

Saurfang glared, but moved out of the Blightcaller's way, who continued down to the Cleft of Shadows, a troll walking up to adress him.

"What joo wan', 'Orsaken?" asked the Shattered Hand Assassin,

"I came to tell you that I can't make it to dinner tonight." said the Blightcaller,

The Shattered Hand Assassin smiled,

"Ah why 'ont joo 'ome wit me over 'ere." said the Shattered Hand Assassin, the Blightcaller following him to a small hut.

"So, who sent you, Forsaken?" asked an Orcish Assassin upon seeing the Blightcaller enter.

"Neven Bellmont." responded the Blightcaller,

"So 'wat does 'da 'deadstalkah want 'wit us?" asked the Shattered Hand Assassin,

"I need the whereabouts of the Blacktooth Grin opperative known as Yagyu." said the Blightcaller.

"'Ah, we 'ave 'eard nottin of dat sort mon. 'Owevah, we may be 'nowin 'tomone dat knows." said the Shattered Hand Assassin,

"Goblins know more then the Deathstalkers, Ravenholdt, SI:17 and the Shattered Hand put together, Forsaken. If anyone knows anything about this guy, I'd bet my right hand that a Goblin knows." said the Orcish Assassin.

The Blightcaller nodded and mounted on his horse once more, exiting The Barrens via Orgrimmar's rear entrance. Riding through The Barrens on the path he made his way toward Ratchet. If Goblins held such information then Ratchet seemed like the most logical destination for the hunt.
If anyone knew any rumors of a member of the Grin wandering about the Warchief's lands it'd be Goblins. Ratchet seemed a logical destination.

Meanwhile...
The cloaked figure made his way toward Yagyu, stopping and growling a simple demand.

"Your name, Greenskin. I require it."

Yagyu could barely contain his excitment. He had good news and he was on his way to find his clan. Gorfrunch lived and breathed and fought once more under the black banner. Somehow, despite the destruction wrought at Ironforge, his family had survived. Nothing would keep him from them. As his mind raced he heard a low growling voice behind him and for the first time, his blood ran cold through his veins.

“Your name, Greenskin. I require it.”

It was a demand veiled in a request and in those six words, Yagyu knew instantly that someone was seeking him. He didn’t know why but it hardly mattered. If someone was looking for him, they could mean to keep him from reuniting with his clan, and that he could not chance. What mattered was how he should respond. In the old days he would have turned around and cracked the stranger’s skull with the ale mug. But here, in this place, with the young troll in his care, with his crippling injury, so close to his goal, he could do nothing that would jeopardize his mission. But subtlety had never been his strong suit. How could he talk his way out of this? His mind raced as he tried to think of how his friends would have handled a similar situation. He knew there was only one thing to do; bluff his way out. Turning to the stranger he calmed himself and answered simply,

“Thrag. An’ who are you to demand anything of me rotter?” Steely-eyed he stared the stranger down awaiting the response.

"I find myself remarking on the paradox of asking a claoked man, who he is." hissed the cloak Forsaken,

"However, you Greenskin are either one of two things. A liar, or happen to have the misfortune of resmbleing someone I'm hunting. It matters little, though if it's the leader I do indeed have some degree of twisted pitty for you." said the Forsaken with a chuckle,

"I'd prefer to have this end pleasntly, as I'm sure our Grandmaster would rather have you brought alive. Leave the rabble and come with me and then before we know it we can all get along with our lives." hissed the Forsaken Spy.

The Forsaken spy’s words bit into Yagyu’s pride like a rusty blade into his skin. Had the bag of bones been less of an arrogant bastard, he might have gotten exactly what he wanted. The orc’s situation was dire, of that there was no doubt but the manner in which the stranger had spoken and the certainty with which he assumed his orders would be carried out infuriated the orc. Instantly Yagyu felt the rage fill him up as all semblance of the self-control he had tried so hard to nurture, quickly departed. Yagyu bowed his head and turned to his left, smiling wickedly as he did so. Just as he felt the stranger begin to follow him, he spun in one fluid motion with the mug ale still in his hand. The blow was aimed perfectly and heavy iron and wood mug connected with the Forsaken’s jaw with a cracking sound that sent a piece of the long dead jaw bone flying. The spy’s body followed the jaw and he spun crazily towards the far wall and tumbled head over rotted heels into a nearby table of trolls.

All thought was gone from the orc. He was running on pure reaction and adrenaline now. Not wasting a moment Yagyu grabbed Zaa’nu by the scruff of the neck and yanked him out of his seat and drug him up the stairs, roaring at him to keep up. Half running, half dragging the young troll up the stairs Yagyu raced towards where he knew the Horde flight-master was. Reaching the top he could hear the commotion below him. He knew the Forsaken would not be out for long and he had to hurry. Tossing some coins at the flight-master, he threw Zaa’nu on a wyvern and hopped on another for himself. Not waiting to see what was happening behind him, Yagyu spurred the creatures to the air. Yelling over his shoulder to Zaa’nu he said, “Git to Grom’gol fast as you can tusker! GO!” He knew the game was up. Someone was looking for him and he cursed himself for loosing his cool, but then, subtlety had never been his style. He left that to the rogues and druids of the world. No, he had lost his cool once again and now he would have to deal with that as best he could, hoping that he could find his clan before those hunters found him.

"Evidently this one is more violent then you assumed, Coperal." said the Blightcaller as he viewed the two Wyverns fall into the distance.

The Deathstalker rubbed his jaw and painfully snapped it back into place, it slacking horribely.

"You'll most likely want to visit an Apothecary, theres a few at the Crossroads that will be able to aid in your recovery. It would seem however, that we've underestimated this prey. I will deal with him myself, personally." growled the Blightcaller,

"How do you know we're they'll go, sir?" asked the Deathstalker, rubbing his jaw.

The Blightcaller threw down three black figureines from his saddlebag, muttering some gutural words the figureines grew to the size equal to that of any self-respecting Dranei.

"Follow them." hissed the Blightcaller, the figureines eyes glowing with a eerie pale yellow light before springing to life and taking to the skies, trailing the path of the wyverns.

"If they kill the gargoyles, then I'll know where they are. If the gargoyles them, then they where of little use to the Nightlord anyways." explained the Blightcaller, turning and walking to the dock.

The wind at their backs pushed them onward up the coast to the fortified camp of Grom’gol. They had just gotten out over the open sea when Yagyu smelled it. It was the acrid sulphuric stench that emanated from undead things. His senses alerted, Yagyu turned in the saddle to see three winged figures following them in the distance. There were still a ways off but Yagyu could tell from their growing size that they were gaining on them. Yelling at Zaa’nu to turn left, Yagyu banked his own wyvern sharply.

He could hear them now, the beat of their powerful wings and their fearsome screech carried on the wind. Zaa’nu heard them too and he was frightened. He had wanted fame and adventure but this was turning out to be more than he bargained for. This orc was obviously being sought by more than just his clan and the young troll was now looking for an end to this harrowing journey…but not before he collected his reward, he told himself. The beating of wings snapped his mind back to the present. He could hear a roar from Yagyu and as he turned to look behind him, he saw the immense dark figures closing on him rapidly. His wyvern saw them too and the creature instinctively banked and rolled trying to fend the creatures off with its own claws. Zaa’nu was scared out of his wits and rather than flying with the wyvern movements he fought against them trying to right the animal. As he turned and the wyvern reluctantly rolled he felt a sharp stabbing sensation in his back that penetrated through to his stomach. Looking down he saw a strange object emerging from his gut. He heard his wyvern scream and dimly he realized that the object in his body was the talon of one of the gargoyles. His own attempts to fight the natural instincts of the wyvern had allowed the gargoyle to sink its claws into his and the wyvern's backs. The gargoyle tried to pull its talons free but the wyvern fought, biting into its wing. The gargoyle howled in pain and it began to lose altitude. It was still not able to disengage its claws from the wyvern or its rider and the three of them plummeted towards the sea below. Feeling the life ebbing out of him, Zaa’nu made one last attempt. Pulling a curved dagger from his belt he summoned his remaining strength and plunged the blade as deep as he could into the heart of the undead creature. He felt the skin give as his blade sank deep. Smiling, he turned his head to see the ocean rushing up to meet him.

Yagyu could only watch helplessly as the dark figures crashed into the sea far below. But he had little time to mourn the loss of his young traveling companion as the remaining two gargoyles now turned their attention to him. He knew that he would suffer a similar fate if he was not able to do something. Thinking quickly he turned his wyvern downward towards the ocean’s surface. Just as he had anticipated ,the gargoyles did the same. Sensing the wyverns confusion, Yagyu told his mount,

“Do what you gotta do, but get to Grom’gol.”

When he was just over 20 feet from the surface he leveled the flyer out and sped straight towards the onrushing creatures. Pulling a long wicked blade from his side, he loosened the straps holding him to saddle. In the distance he could see the familiar coastline and the silhouette of Grom’gol. He braced his feet on the edge of the stirrups and as he closed on the gargoyles, Yagyu roared and leapt onto the back of the nearest monster. The attack caught the creature off guard and the unintended weight plunged them both into the rough sea. As he did so, the suddenly unencumbered wyvern shot over the head of the other gargoyle raking its claws and tail across the creature’s face as it did so and sped towards Grom’gol.

Meanwhile Yagyu, hanging onto the back of the shocked flying monstrosity repeatedly buried his blade into the base of the skull of the gargoyle until it finally stopped twitching. When he was satisfied the thing would move no more, he swam towards the surface. Breaking the surface just long enough to catch a breath, Yagyu spotted his wyvern being pursued by the remaining gargoyle. He hoped Thysta the flightmaster at Grom’gol would take care of the problem and save him any further trouble. No doubt she would not take kindly to a stinking undead thing attacking one of the wyverns. Neither would the other wyverns for that matter. But Yagyu put the thought out of his mind for the time being. He had other business. He would have to search for Zaa’nu and then there would be the long swim back Grom’gol.

With a loud screech the armored Vampire Bat departed from The Maiden's Fancy, the Blightcaller riding upon his large pet. The Blightcaler lifted his bow and slipped in two arrows, firing them off into the distance.

Within moments the arrows came from seemingly nowhere, striking the gargoyles in the head and piercing their skulls. Causing them to let out a final cry, and shatter into countless black shards that began to sink to the bottom of the ocean, leaving no trace of the Wyvern's and their passenger's attackers.

The Blightcaller then pulled the reins on his armored vampire bat, causing it to drop down toward the surface of the water, skimming the top of it toward the distant shape of Yagyu came into sight.

At first the Blightcaller increased speed, the vampire bat blasting past the Orc several times before stopping in front of Yagyu, letting out a fearsome cry that echoed in the night air.

"All this hunting... and we haven't even introduced ourselves." said the Blightcaller, turning his armored vampire bat and looking Yagyu in the eyes.

"I am Nathanos Marris, the Blightcaller." declared the Blightcaller, glaring into Yagyu's eyes with a cold stare that had given pause to murderous Death Knight and over-zealous Crusader alike.

"All this hunting... and we haven't even introduced ourselves. I am Nathanos Marris, the Blightcaller."

Yagyu knew the Blightcaller. In his own younger days he had performed a few tasks for rotting former pinkskin. He also knew the Blightcaller’s strength. It would be useless to fight him, not that he could do much of that floating in the water just outside of Grom’gol. He had found Zaa’nu’s body deep in the water but with only one good arm it was impossible to take him back for burial. He would tell the trolls resident in Grom’gol and someone would look after him. But now, facing the hollow eyes of the Blightcaller, Yagyu knew there was little chance of that either. Staring back at him, Yagyu said,

“So yer the one that’s been huntin’ me? Well, I dunno why but here I am.”

Defiantly he returned Marris’ cold stare. Maybe he was too weak, infirm, and weary to fight, but he would not kowtow to any talking corpse; not while blood still flowed in his veins.

“You listen to me now rotter. I’m Yagyu Swobu’gol. I was once a Warlord of the Blacktooth Grin Clan under Chieftan Gorfrunch Smashblade. I’m making my way to Grom’gol to find them and if’n ya wanna stop me, then ya better kill me now. If not, then get outta my way because I got a long swim.”

"You've saved me much time with your confession, Orc. So I'll make this simple as well. I've been tasked with finding, and bringing you back to Undercity. If you attempt to resist, I'll slaughter you, then raise your pathetic corpse and make it tear itself apart. Understood?" hissed the Blightcaller, unphased by Yagyu's bravado.

Yagyu stared with hatred at the arrogant undead astride the vampire bat. He knew however, that his options were limited. If he tried to escape, the Blightcaller could easily capture him. If he fought, he would likely be killed and he would assuredly never see his clan again. He was caught with no way out but his pride would not let him surrender. He hated to run from a fight and he remembered when Faquarl had ordered him to leave Thorium Point when the Alliance was bringing in large numbers of reinforcements. He had protested then,

“But Jo! We can’t run like rabbits from these pinkers!”

“You will Yag!” Faquarl had sternly told him. “We’ve won our battle but you can’t win the fight that will come. If you go now we can salvage a victory here. You have your orders.”

As much as he had bristled at the thought, he knew Faquarl had been right then. Just as he bristled at the thought now he knew he had no choice in the matter. Resignedly he turned away from the hovering creature and began to swim towards Grom’gol. He was so close he could almost touch it. A breeze of wind behind him told him the bat was moving and just as quickly he felt the large talons dig into his body and drag him out of the water. The orc didn’t struggle but simply watched the fort at Grom’gol sink below him as he rose up and over. It grew smaller and smaller until it was completely obscured by clouds and his only thoughts were of how close he had come to seeing the only family he had left in the world. Wearily, he let his head droop as he passed out of consciousness.

The Blightcaller soared over the numerous lands, having to fly low due to the weight of the plate the Orc wore. Thus drawing attentions from wild gryphons, and on one occasion a black drake.

The forlorne howl of a darkhound brought a smile to the Blightcaller's face, and a sigh of relief from his bat as they realized they where home.

The bat dropped altitude, lowering below the clouds and near the forests of Tiristfal, flying near Brill. Hovering just high enough to make the fall near fatel if Yagyu where to suddenly break free.

"Executor Zygand, do you have any information about the whereabouts of the Nightlord, I was informed he'd leave such information here." asked the Blightcaller, casually. Not noticing the crowd he'd drawn around him.

"Yes, sir. He's reported to your current post of the Marris Stead and has been taking responsibility for your duties in the meanwhile. Might I ask about the Orc, sir?" asked Executor Zygand,

"You might. But I'll give no answer. Reguardless if he's left and you or one of your patrols happen to see him, inform him I'll have the prisoner detained at my stead." ordered Nathanos, taking off into the air.

Lifting toward the top of the clouds the bat began to fly toward the Marris Stead.

Suddenly a loud cry echoed through the air, the Blightcaller's bat spun out of the way of a massive blast of frost.

"What in the..." said the Blightcaller, turning around to see a Frostwyrm flying after the bat.

"There wasn't activity to this degree last time I left..." hissed the Blightcaller, firing a few arrows at the Frostwyrm.

The Frostwrym roared and charged the bat, causing it to rear the Blightcaller off and let go of Yagyu, raising to a higher altitude to avoid the undead dragon.

The two of them proceeded to fall at an alarming rate of speed toward Darrowmere Lake.

Yagyu could hardly believe his luck. Of course, most anyone else would hardly have believed it to be lucky to find themselves plummeting down from the sky into a large lake. But such were the circumstances the orc found himself in. This was his one chance to escape and he did not intend to waste it. Plunging into what he hoped was a deep part of the lake, he held his breath as the force of the impact with the water’s surface buffeted his feet. Almost instantly he felt the water close around him as he sank into the water, his momentum beginning to subside. Quickly he turned and began to swim as best he could. On the way down he had seen the island of Caer Darrow behind him. If he had figured correctly, he should be heading south. If he could keep going to the falls he knew the river would eventually take him to Tarren Mill. There he could dry off, and hire a bat to fly him to Grom’gol.

He was beginning to run out of breath when he felt the gentle pull of the current. He had found it! The head of the river. He could only chance a short breath above the surface. He still had no idea what had happened to the Blightcaller. He could only hope that he was too preoccupied with his bat to worry about the frantically swimming orc. Quickly he broke the surface and gulped a cool breath of air before diving down again towards the flowing current.

The Blightcaller hit the water with shock, quickly gaining hold of the situation he cursed his bat as he saw it fly off into the distance. However, it soom became obvious that the Frostwyrm was not real, as it faded away.

The Blightcaller glanced at the Caer Darrow, the roof's where glowing with the sickily green light which implied a Necromantic Amplifier had been used to create such an effective illusion.

However this ment... they knew someone was in the area.

The Blightcaller swam under, looking for the Orc. Upon seeing Yagyu make his way for the current he lept from the water, gaining a good amount of distance before landing back into it.

Swiming with all his speed he latched onto Yagyu's kneck, locking his other hands and putting the Orc in a head-lock as he fratnically swam toward the surface.

However, it was to late. The Scourge from Andorhal and Caer Darrow had gathered on the water bed. They're number was indeed vast but it was the presence of a Fledling LIch which worried the Blightcaller.

A Necromancer could be taken out with a carefully aimed shot to the head, but Lichs where differnt, stronger. The army would last eternally unless they where slain.

The Blightcaller pulled Yagyu to the surface and sent off a distress flare into the air.

The small red flare flew up, and then exploded into a perfectly shaped symbol.

"Greenskin, if you value your life you'll not go toward that bank. It gets shallow enough for them to reach you, hold your breath as long as you can and get ready." barked the Blightcaller.

Giving a moment for Yagyu to get a breath before letting go and shoving him under the water, then diving himself, barely avoiding a hail of arrows, them going into the water and then slowly sinking back up.

Meanwhile....

Bayne trotted down the line with a platoon of the 1st Lordaeron Guard's Knights in formation behind him.

Nathanos had been right, he had grown to use to the Grin's tatics in his time at Outland. Having a group of more well-armed and disciplined soldiers was nice for a change, though a bit less intresting.

"Sir. Distress flare, near Caer Darrow." informed one of the Knights who had spotted the flare.

"Understood. We'll begin moving out. With the exception of you." Bellmont chose a Knight randomly,

"Report to the Bulwark, we may need renforcements." said Bellmont as the knight turned courier rode off toward the Bulwark.

The regiments of Forsaken Knights and the Grand Executor rode off toward Nathanos's and Yagyu's direction, as usual not sure what odds they where up against.

As much as he disliked the idea, Yagyu knew that for the moment, his survival depended upon the Forsaken. At any rate, with his useless arm, it would be a wasted effort to try to swim away. Nathanos would easily catch up to him. With that in mind, he took a great gulp of air and stayed close to the Blightcaller as they dove under the speeding arrows.

But as they tried to evade the arrows, the scourge were trying to cut off any possible escape routes upon the shores of the lake. The situation was indeed grim and as they dove under yet another slew of arrows, they heard in the distance the vague sound of hoofbeats.

The Forsaken Knight's flanked the skeletal archers, sending the bastards flying up into the air and shattering them into useless fractures of bone.

Bellmont stood with a small platoon of Forsaken Crossbowmen and dismounted Forsaken Knights, scanning the battlefield quickly.

"Where are you bastard... there!" cried Bellmont, montioning to the Necromancers and the Lichs.

"Take them down or they're numbers will continue to come. Renforcements are on the move." ordered Bellmont as he charged toward the Lich,

The Lich took no time in noticing the charge, unlike several unlucky Necromancers who had been impaled by the first hail of arrows.

Muttering some gutural words, icey stalagmites shot from the ground, impaling the dismounted Forsaken Knights with the exception of Bellmont.

Bellmont lept up toward the Lich, but was then blasted up into the sky with a cold whirlwind of frost. Swinging his cloak around Bellmont disappeared in a torrent of darkness, reappearing behind the Lich and cutting one of the chains that bound his essence.

Meanwhile the necromancers began to fire back at the Forsaken Crossbowmen, with little sucess. The majority of them where little more then apprentices, students not even graduated from Scholomance. They fled back to the Carer Darrow, broken and routing.

Bellmont lept up again and cut another chain, enshrouding himself in a cacoon of shadows, causing the sharp icey shards wiped at him to gently sail through.

Rushing forward he cut the final two chains, causing the Lich to let out a screech and perish, it's soul flying back to the hidden location of it's phylactery.

Bellmont let out a cry of pain as a sword lashed his back, he spun around to see a mounted figure on a Undead Steed. Bellmont's blood ran cold, a Death Knight? Truly the Scourge's numbers had strengthened in these parts.

Bellmont sent off a flare, ducking down from a blow ment to decapate him and in the process dodging a hail of flamming arrows from the Forsaken Crossbowmen.

The arrows tore through the Death Knight's horse, killing it instantly. But the arrows could not penetrate such unholy armor. Rasing his sword he charged at Bellmont, who parried it with both his blades. The two locked in a struggle, with no assistance and the Scourge's numbers continueing to poor in from Caer Darrow and Andorhal.

The shower of arrows had stopped. It was clear to the orc that the cause was an attack on the flanks of the Scourge by a group of what Yagyu could only assume were Forsaken. It was then he saw the figure of the officer commanding the Forsaken charge into the fray and attack the Lich. Something about the movements of the Forsaken seemed familiar to him. Then he saw the approach of the Death Knight. It was clear that the officer had not seen or heard the Death Knight’s arrival. Yagyu watched as the evil blade slashed the Forsaken’s back. The officer cried out in pain and turned to lock swords with the unholy creature. It was then that Yagyu realized just who this Forsaken was leading the pack. It was Bellmont.

He could hardly believe his eyes. There, on the shores of Darrowmere Lake, stood one of his clanmates leading a group of Forsaken against a horde of Scourge. Seeing him alive was a shock to the orc. Although he had anticipated this, it still surprised him nonetheless. With little thought, Yagyu’s natural reactions took over. Forgetting about his own predicament he swam as best he could towards the banks of the lake behind the Death Knight. He still had his dagger and his heart raced at the thought of the opportunity to once again join the field of battle together with his fellow Bhurka. As Bellmont and the Death Knight parried each other’s blows, a group of Scourge was reacting to the threat from Bellmont’s army. If the Knight was not dealt with quickly, Bellmont’s forces would be caught in a vice. Yagyu’s heart pounded in his chest as he swam as fast as he could to the banks of the lake.
It seemed like an age until he reached the shore but as soon as he did he came out of the water and up the bank at a jog. He could see Bellmont’s face clearly now and his adrenaline pumped as he roared out the warcry he had not heard in far too long.

“FEAR THE GRIN!!” Yagyu bellowed as he charged the Death Knight, dagger in hand.

He hit the Knight at a full charge knocking him senseless and giving Bellmont the opportunity he needed to strike.

As the Death Knight stumbled to the side from the force of the sudden blow, Bellmont whirling around and decapating the unholy crusader.

Caught at a glance he at first didn't acknowledge Yagyu, but then realizing who he saw wipped around.

"Apologies for skipping the formalities-" said Bellmont, whirling to the side and throwing an axe, it lodging itself in the dead center of a charging skeltal warrior.

"Good to see you, pitty you decided to appear at such hostile times. Remind me to buy you a drink for helping me out back there providing we survive this." said Bellmont, twisting an adamantium grenade and throwing it into a small trench of skeletal archers.

The Forsaken knight Bellmont had sent to contac t the Bulwark rode up forward, knocking down and trampling several ghouls on his way.

"Sir, news of my mission. Only several relief units where avaliable. However we also received one special renforcement I believe will be quite potant." said the Forsaken knight confidently.

"Then why is your disposition so chipper, unless you seek death?" hissed Bellmont, however his question would be answered shortly.

The ground exploded near a charging force of abominations, off in the distance on the bridge from Andorhal two Siege Engines, stolen from the dwarves of Ironforge.

The siege engines cannons burst, blowing away the Scourge utterly. Bellmont grabbed Yagyu by the arm and pulled him toward the rally point, a makeshift outpost made from several fallen trees.

Forsaken riflemen and crossbowmen continued to fire at the Scourge, the two Siege Engines rolling down the captured ground and firing at the Scourge. The Blightcaller nodded at Bellmont as he ran for the cover, letting forth an arrow as he did that caught a Necromancer in the chest.

A Crypt Lord marching up the bank, unfased by the siege engines' onslaught. Slamming it's claws on the ground it let out a path of spikes, shooting from the ground several caught one of the siege engines and flipped it over, causing it to spiral into Darrowmere Lake.

The Crypt Lord then took off, flying barely with it's large insectoid wings. Landing it began to claw at the remaining siege engine, cutting it's cannon off and knocking the steaming remains into the lake. It exploding shortly thereafter.

Bellmont ran up and activated his Goblin Dragon gun, causing the Crypt Lord to rear upward. Nathanos Blightcaller then gave the order to openfire, every Forsaken riflemen and crossbowmen whipping around and tearing through the Crypt Lord's unarmored underbelly.

The former nerubian prince roared as green blood flowed from his mouth and bottum, causing him to attempt to fly but dive mid-way through, crashing into the waters and floating about.

Bellmont threw Yagyu to the ground in order to make it difficult for him to follow as Bellmont lead a charge. The Scourge responded in kind, the two groups of charging undead exchanging fires as they neared clashing point.

A Forsaken footman cut the head from skeletal warrior, then dieing as a ghoul lept form behind the skeletal warrior and ripping through his kneck. A Forsaken mage blasted through numerous zombies and ghouls being thrown at him, turning to attack once more only to see an arrow from a skeletal archer before everything went black.

Bellmont fired at the Undead with a steam pistol, a skeletal warrior knocking it away as he charged the Forsaken Grand Executor. Bellmont slide his leg, knocking the skeletal warrior on his longsword and bringing it upward, cutting the creature in two.

The battle waged without victor before an abomination rushed in the mixxed, though quickly killed Bellmont and other veteran troops took cover as they saw a dieing necromancer utter a few gutural words.

The abomination suddenly compuled, roared, and exploded. As the cloud cleared Bellmont readied a flare and took a Forsaken banner and rushed toward the nearest visible highground.

The skeletal archers, uneffected by the haze, fired at Bellmont. Arrows grazing Bellmont in the sides, legs and chest as he continued to run. As he neared the small rise an arrow caught in him the lower kneck, causing him to spit faded blood and with a final push shoving the flag into the ground.

The flare then shot forward, sending a vibrant distress signal in the air as Bellmont's vision faded and he gave into the comming darkness.

"Enough, of, this." a voice bellowed. The Forsaken began to withdraw slowly, the Scourge pressed on but then stopped as the dust cleared. The figure of Varimathras stood in the clearing, the Necromancers stammered as the dead stayed motionless. Varimathras was one of the few things that gave pause to even the Scourge.

Raising his hand he whispered a few words in Erudan, red lights shooting around one of the Necromancers as he slowly began to float upwards. The unfortunate Necromancer cried for aid, from troops, the Lich King, the forgotten shadow, the holy light, anything. But it was vain.

The Necromancer was torn apart, limb from limb in a gory spectacle. The blood from the dismemberment poored from the air like a waterfall, hitting the ground as if it where acid, seeping through as steam rised.

The earth around it began to crumble, falling into a gathering void where the blood had spilled. Suddenly a roar echoed from it, as a large claw came from the abyss. A Doomguard emerging and walking up to the Scourge, joyfully tearing them apart as they fled for the Caer Darrow.

"Do not call me again, Blightcaller. I have more pressing matters then attend to such peity battles." growled Varimathras, as bright light sorrunded him, causing him to fade away.

Several medics began to attend to the wounded, one of which pulling Bellmont from the battlefield and casually dropping him behind the makeshift fortification. The battle, for the most part, was over.

Yagyu watched as the survivors of the battle began to tend to the wounded and pile the defeated scourge carcasses into a burnpile. The acrid stench of the burning of rotted undead bones filled his nostrils and he smiled. It had been a long time since the orc had smelled the scent of a recent battle and it was a welcome treat. It reminded him of so many battles fought by the Grin against their enemies. He only wished he could share it with the rest of his clan.

Bellmont! Where was the little rotter? Yag wandered through the wounded lying on fallen trees and sitting on stumps and the base of broken columns. Then he saw Forsaken. Lying on a withered tree cut like a table he was being tended by a Forsaken medic. This was not the orc’s strength and he knew it so he found a comfortable place to sit while he waited for Bellmont to come to his senses.

It seemed like hours before Bellmont finally opened his eyes. Quickly Yagyu bolted up and standing looking over him.

“So yer alive ya little rotter! And what luck to have found ya out here!”

Bellmont didn’t speak but simply looked at him. His eyes strayed from Yagyu’s face to his withered arm. Following his gaze, Yag shifted uncomfortably so as to turn his right side away from Bellmont. Although he was happy to know that at least one Grin still lived, the arm was still a shameful reminder of their defeat at Ironforge. It was a wound that would take a long time to heal.

It was not lost on the orc that Bellmont was here surrounded by Forsaken guards and his questions came out in a jumble.

“Bell, where’s the rest of the Clan? Where’s the Grin at? Who survived Bronzebeard’s bloody halls?”

Bellmont began to speak.

Bellmont stood up, weary from the battle.

"Of all the places I thought I'd see you. Seems my instincts where right, I hope Nathanos didn't injure you in the hunt." said Bellmont as he binded his lighter wounds in bandages.

"Reguardless. We have must to discuss. And this battlefield is hardly a place to do so." said Bellmont, motioning over to Nathanos,

"Nathan, do you think you could oversee the epilogue of this battle?" asked Bellmont,

"I think not, I just ran half-way across Azeroth chasing this Greenskin." growled the Blightcaller,

"I also commanded a warzone in your stead, and just saved your skin from certain dismemberment." countered Bellmont.

The Blightcaller sighed,

"Very well, I supose I'll take care of this annoying little endevor. But you'll owe me in the future, of that much I can assure you." hissed the Blightcalled, as he walked off to manage the battlefield.

Bellmont let forth a sharp whistle, his armored undead horse, Bayne wandering up toward him. Mounting his steed he waited for Yagyu to call his and began to lead him down the roads of the plaguelands.

"I must be the harbringer of most grim news... Yagyu. The Grin set itself on a crusade to rid the Outlands of the heroes of the Second War... in such war many, many died. Faquarl, Grimnir... and Gorfrunch... among the more notable." said Bellmont, preparing himself for any outlash emotional or otherwise.

“I must be the harbinger of most grim news... Yagyu. The Grin set itself on a crusade to rid the Outlands of the heroes of the Second War...”

As Bellmont spoke, Yagyu began to grin unconsciously in anticipation of the certain happy homecoming he was about to expect. He saw Bellmont give him an uncertain glance before continuing. The next words the Forsaken rogue spoke blindsided the orc.

“In such war many, many died. Faquarl, Grimnir,...and Gorfrunch...among the more notable.”

Of all the news Yagyu had been expecting to hear, this was certainly not it. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared unbelieving at Bellmont. Here was his clanmate, his…friend. One with whom he had shared many battles and many arguments, telling him that his return would be marred by the absence not only of three of the Clan’s best leaders but also his friends.
Bellmont noticed that Grimfang was no longer loping along beside Bayne and he turned to see the orc astride the armored worg, unmoving in the middle of the road. Not knowing quite how to gauge the orc’s reaction, he waited for him to speak.

Yag did not know what to say. For so long he had believed his friends dead, only to find them alive and fighting once more. The revelation had reinvigorated his spirit and he moved once more through the world with a purpose. Now as he stood in the middle of a lonely road in the Plaugelands, Bellmont’s words cut him worse than any Nelf blade ever could have. Looking at Bellmont he knew that the rogue did not lie. There was no hint of deceit about him, no sly cunning passed his eyes. There was only a singular look of sad regret. In that moment, Yagyu knew that it was true and he bowed his head.

“I’ll pay my respects at their grave.” he said. Then, looking up and falling alongside of Bayne Yagyu continued down the path cursing the spirits who wove the threads of his life for not allowing him the glory of fighting at the side those warriors in their final hours.

The two passed along in silence for a time until Yagyu again spoke.

“How..? Tell me how it happened Bell”

"Well, it all started with the death of Faquarl. Along the warpath we aquired a staff of formidable power. When we won it from the Alliance in a seires of battles, all refused to use the staff, fearing it's power would obliterate them upon mere contact with it." explained Bellmont,

"Faquarl was the one who took up this cup. He wielded well, and in the it aided us in the battles of Zangermarsh. It was then Faquarl seemed to become... different." said Bellmont,

"Whatever foul being lied in the staff it corrupted him. Mentally at first, he ordered the slaughter of a small coloney of humans. They had no weapons, offered no resistance, and had no affliation with any of our enemies. Innocent farmers and refugees, and he slaughtered every one of them. It gave pause to even Huizopotl, and a more sadastic troll I've yet to met." told Bellmont as they walked,

"It then began to manifest itself phisically. Faquarl began talking to himself, his hair grew greyer and darker, his eyes seemed a bit more wild. In general more feral, violent in apperance. This all changed when the staff was destroyed in the final battle of Zangermarsh. Faquarl returned to an older self, but it was still plagued by this madness." said Bellmont,

"It was then in the Netherstorm that Faquarl battled just like any other war. It was somewhat shocking, a simple error in timing, or perhaps he wanted to die. But a few simple arrows from a Night Elf was his reaper. Before he passed he told Arkonn of Gorfrunch's actions..." said Bellmont,

"He had continued this war against forces that we could not beat. He had stretched Suncrown to the breaking point, A'dal grew suspicious of the Grin's true intentions, as Agholinn informed him that we were on but a pilgrimage." said Bellmont,

"So to prove our loyality to Shattrath and that our intentions where honorable, we were sent to Shadowmoon Valley in order to do battle with Illidan's troops. Gorfrunch used this oppertunity to attack Wildhammer Fortress, the home of Kurdan from the Second War." told Bellmont,

"It was there when the unthinkable. Randomly, Arkonn, yes, Arkonn, challenged Gorfrunch to single combat. The two dueled, and in the end, Arkonn prevailed, kicking Gorfrunch into the firery pits of Shadowmoon. His remains burning instantly, to prevent him from ever being brought back to this realm with simple ressurections. " said Bellmont,

"What Arkonn did was justified, and for the good of the Grin, from some perspectives. What wasn't expected, is how quickly A'dal learned. It seems Khadgar had kept contacts with his former friends." explained Bellmont,

"We where detained in Nagrand, with no leader. It was then the Suncrown arrived. After a long council, and the dealing with several disobedient raiders who attempted to overthrow us due to our judgement of Suncrown, we concluded that they had nothing to do with the assassination and that Arkonn worked alone." said Bellmont,

"Of course there was still a blood debt owed, and Arkonn was nowhere to be found. I knew what he spoke off was true, Gorfrunch had called down the wrath of A'dal, the Alliance and the majority of the Horde. In Outland, though our campaign seemed unmovable with the momentium we gained with our sucessful warpaths, we where slowly wearing down our time until destruction." said Bellmont,

"Even the Undercity refused to aid the Grin. This was Gorfrunch's doing as well. When I pleaded with him not to attempt to kill Alleria or Arator, my Queen's sister and nephew, he spat at the idea and theorized of sending the Dark Lady a condolence letter witht he head of her realtives in a basket." Bellmont explained, a hit of outrage in his voice.

"As to Arkonn's actions... they where brash. But understandable. The Arkonn you knew is long dead, he has found love, and in this love a child now grows. Such a man did not intend to see his family or friends die. But he had managed to put himself in exile for eternity it seems until the Grin broke away from Outland." said Bellmont,

"With the aid of the Fel-Horde, which I was able to wrangle into our services through planting of false documents that suggested Alliance attacks on the Citidael. We escaped and made our home at Stonard, where we still stay." said Bellmont,

"After the Keepers, who had followed us out where sent running back to Arathi, we returned. As more and more slunk off to the barracks, it was only Griminr, Vord, Xylien, Shadiel, Esere, Agholinn and myself still up in the dead of night. Speaking of Arkonn's betrayel and Suncrown's suffering to aid us." said Bellmont,

"At that moment, Arkonn and his wife, Fiora arrived in Stonard quite unexpectadly. After an exchange of words Grimnir realized that the word he had once been a younger Orc in had changed. Mighty armies stood all around, and to many enemies had the Grin made to quickly. However, a blood debt was to be payed." explained Bellmont,

"So Grimnir ordered Shadiel and I to give this decree. The blood debt was payed, with either Grimnir or Arkonn's blood. The two went up against eachother in single combat, and in the end, Arkonn prevailed. Inrecidably broken over what he had done." said Bellmont.

Yagyu took in Bellmont’s word with disbelief. Arkonn himself had slain the Chieftan? It couldn’t be true. And yet, Yagyu knew that Bellmont spoke the truth. The orc seethed with rage as he listened to the Forsaken’s tale. First, Faquarl killed by the hands of Night Elf. Then Gorfrunch and Grimnir both, laid low by a former friend and ally. It was all too much.

“I swear that any Nelf I find will grease my axe with his blood.” Yagyu fumed. “And what of that treacherous dog, Arkonn, Bell? Where does he hang his cloak? I’ll slit his throat before I leave this world.” The orc spit the words out between clenched teeth. Bellmont stopped and looked seriously at the orc.

“You can’t Yag. Grimnir swore that the debt would be paid in full if he should fall. Would you dishonor his memory?” The rogue stared hard at the orc trying to gauge his reaction. Yagyu took in the meaning of the words and knew that there was little he could do. Staring up at the sky he roared in impotent frustration.

Seeing that Yagyu was realizing the implications of the debt that Grimnir had paid, Bellmont said, “Arkonn only believed Gorfrunch had to be stopped.”

The rage had boiled his temper white-hot and Yagyu turned his anger on Bellmont. He roared at the Forsaken “I don’t give a damn about yer Queen or stoppin’ any wars! If the Chief was fightin’ then he musta had a good reason! Who was Arkonn to decide otherwise?!?”
Bellmont could almost see old orcish curse of demon’s blood-taint rising behind Yagyu’s eyes as he raged.
“I won’t dishonor Grimnir, Bellmont, but don’t ask me ta forgive the scrawny runt! And yew Sythegar…yew better figger out where yer loyalties lie. With us…or with yer own kind?!”

With that Yagyu spurred Grimfang onward not caring whether Bellmont chose to follow or not. He was headed to Stonard. He would reunite with his clan, heal his arm, and wait, and ready himself…

He would have revenge. If it could not be over Arkonn’s corpse then he swore it would be over the bodies of as many Alliance as he could find. He would burn their towns into cinders if he had to, but he would make the Alliance know that the death of the Warchief and his friends did mean an end to the killing. He would write their last chapters in blood.

~fin~