DRAENOR - A dark, brooding nimbus off the coast of Frostfire Ridge, conceals an enemy waiting for its opportunity to invade. Its far reaching effects have tempers flaring, inner conflicts, families, friends and lovers turning against each other. I...
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The morning was coated in a veil of mist making the Deadwind Pass even more eerie than normal. Bernie shivered as it seemed to seep into her bones. She felt bad she had insisted on using Mel's shirt for makeshift handles on the shards. He sat chafing his arms trying to stay warm. Waquro threw them a blanket each then saw that the three captives had water canteens for the journey. "We will eat later," he said. "It is not wise to go into the swamp on a full stomach. You will just lose its contents."
Mel and Bernie did not question him, both well aware he would know what he was talking about.
"Belmar, gather the weapons, and Hagus, see to all other necessities and douse that fire," Waquro ordered. The orcs busied themselves doing as he had instructed.
Mick, on hearing the smaller orc's name, started laughing. Angry stares from Bernie and Mel did not dissuade him from his raucous outburst. Waquro towered over him. It almost shut him up, until he looked back at the subject of his mirth.
"What amuses you, human?" Waquro asked darkly.
Mick pointed to the smaller of the two orcs. "His name kills me," he said between gulps of stupid laughter.
"It is an honourable name. You show disrespect."
"Hagus!" Mick laughed again. "Where we come from, something sounding similar is a food to us." He growled the last few words, emphasising his scorn.
Waquro looked at Bernie for confirmation. She nodded and explained, "Sheeps 'pluck' or more commonly known as haggis, made from minced offal with onion and oatmeal. Traditionally it is stuffed in the sheep's stomach and boiled."
A rumble sounded, deep in the Tauren's chest, almost like laughter. Mel nudged Bernie and their fingers closed tightly around each other's hands. There was a distinct lack of humour in his mirth. Mick, however, read it differently and his laughter rose again.
Without warning, Waquro bellowed loudly causing the orcs to drop the items they had gathered. Bernie and Mel slammed against the wall in fright and Mick dropped like a stone to the ground. Scurrying backwards, on hands and feet, Mick kept slipping on the stone floor, hindering his propulsion as Waquro stomped after him, the huge hooves threatening to crush Mick's feet at any moment. Mick's back slammed up against the opposite wall, the wind knocked out of him and his escape route gone. Waquro bent down, his nostril's flaring wildly, breath hot and steamy, coating Mick's apology of a coiffure in a film of moist air. "You think that's funny do you, little boy!"
Mick covered his face with his arm. "N – no," he whimpered. A damp patch spread down his left thigh. He squeezed his eyes closed in utter shame.
"Understand this you little worm, these orcs look on you as food. Their clan eat the likes of you raw for breakfast and use your bones to pick your flesh from their teeth. It has been with great restraint that they haven't gnawed on your limbs overnight, so think carefully before that offensive opening that you call a mouth spews forth any more foul utterings. Or I will personally feed you to them!" With one enormous snort that coated Mick's face in mucus, he turned brusquely and headed back to the opposite side of the cave. As he levelled with the shocked faces of Mel and Bernie he grunted, before collecting his sword and axe that leaned against the wall.
