((Originally posted by Bladebreaker.))
In thinking about Blade's coming changes, it prompted me to write a couple of short bits about his past. This one came from imagining a first meeting between Okrth and Blade. Still pretty rough, but it's been decomposing on my hard drive so I thought I'd just post it.
Lightning arced from Okrth’s fingers, charring the shield of the onrushing human; it did nothing to slow the man down. Okrth cursed under his breath and with a quick gesture summoned the spirit of earth to bind the human’s feet; he still had to run, there wasn’t time to try again. Behind the human he saw a gnome making familiar gestures, flames licking at her stubby fingers. Okrth needed to find cover.
As he ran he reached his mind toward the spirit of air, fingering the small totem hanging from his hip. He heard a terrible sound behind him, hot air expanding, crackling with energy, fire from the hands of the gnome he was sure. He felt its heat on his back. Then it was gone with hardly a sound, consumed by the spirits, brought to ground and smothered. He would have liked some time to consider the wonder of it all, but there was his safety to consider first.
He dove behind a giant stump on the outskirts of Tarren Mill, hopefully breaking line of sight for the mage. A squad of deathguards rushed past him, and he heard the clash of metal and curses of the human who had been in pursuit. A few minutes respite, at least.
“Hello,” said the tauren sitting next to him.
Okrth blinked, surprised. The tauren was fixing a strap on his armor. He nodded solemnly at Okrth and resumed his work.
“Ah… ‘eya mon. Joo be fightin’ fa Tarren Mill?” Okrth watched the tauren curiously. He’d met some with great distaste for the Forsaken; quite a few tauren would just as well see them killed off.
“I am. It’s where the fighting is,” replied the tauren. “I am Bladebreaker. I saw you fighting out there. You are crafty.”
“Ah have mah moments, ya mon. Joo jus’ ‘ere fa de fightin’ den, mon? Na udda reason?”
“It is enough. I fight where I am told to fight.”
Okrth nodded and slipped a short metal cylinder with a knob at one end out of his belt. He tossed it from hand to hand. “If joo like de fight, mon, ah might have someone joo should meet. Name a’ Raels. De Dark Mistress. She might have some tings joo wanna hear.”
“As long as the fights are worth fighting,” the tauren rumbled.
“How joo decide which ones worth fightin’ den?”
“The ones I’m not sure I’ll win. Those are the right ones to fight.”
“Well, dis be de right place fa dat.” Okrth said thoughtfully. He abruptly hit the metal cylinder on the ground. There was a muffled sound of breaking glass. The tauren and troll both stared at the metal cylinder for a moment, the silence interrupted only by the distant shouts of Deathguards and Alliance fighters.
“That’s a grenade, isn’t it?” Bladebreaker asked.
“Ya mon,” Okrth replied, grinning.
“How long until it explodes?”
“Ah don’ know. fi'teen, twenny seconds mebbe.”
“Shouldn’t you throw it at someone?” Bladebreaker didn’t seem concerned, just curious. Okrth thought to himself Raels will appreciate this one.
“Aftah joo,” Okrth replied.
Bladebreaker laughed, and surged to his feet. He spun around the edge of the stump and charged toward the fighting. Okrth leaped up as well, hurling the cylinder out in front of them both, and in moments he was in the shape of a translucent wolf, tongue lolling, panting at the tauren's heels. The fight was on.
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