Author's Note

Hello Everyone,

Thank you all for the warm welcome back. To be honest, I was a little worried that my writing skills had declined after a year or so. As such, I am very happy that you guys enjoyed the last chapter so hope this one is the same to you guys!

Also, I won't be able to reply to comments like I used to a few years back. I am currently going on job interviews and having a part-time job at the same time. Couple that with writing and other commitments, I didn't have much time to reply to each comment. I will still read them though, so if you have any thoughts, feel free to share them below!

Sincerely,
Riposte

27. Cruelty and Will I

Jon was a member of the militia from one of the nameless villages surrounding Durnholde keep. A farmer by trade, Jon had been living off the fat of the land for the past few years since the Second War. Sure, he had felt extremely apprehensive when the Royal Emissaries had arrived to inform them that the area around Durnholde Keep would be used to establish Internment Camps for the defeated orcs, with the most prominent concern that the orcs would break out and ravage the countryside.

However, as the years passed, those worries faded as orc breakouts became a mere bedside story to tell the kids to scare them into obedience.

Now, though, it would seem that the story had just became very, very real.

It was a calm winter morning, and Jon had been tending to his animals when the alarm was raised. Quickly picking up the rusty spear that he had used as a soldier in the Second War, Jon led his family to the town square. As he headed down pass the snowy paths, he could that see a band of orcs had arrived in the village. Those greenskin bastards were terrifying to behold, even as they smash through doors and took whatever they wanted.

"Come, follow!" He called out to his wife and son as Jon dashed through the chaotic mess that the roads had become, leading his family towards the safety of the townhall. Unfortunately, he noticed too late a large green fist smashing into him, breaking his spear haft into splinters before sending him sprawling into the dirt.

"Dada!" Jon heard his son cry out even as he tried to stand upright. Unfortunately, he hadn't even gotten halfway up when a large foot planted itself on his back, forcing him back down to the wet and cold ground.

"Go, get to the hall!" He managed as he stared up fearfully at the visage of the grinning orc staring down at him. The green figure hefted a mighty axe in one hand and slowly lifted it up and Jon felt his heart sank at the realization that he would not be able to see the end of today.

Thankfully, it would appear that fortune was on his side, as another human clad in chainmail charged the orc, who turned to face his new foe. As soon as the foot was lifted off of him, Jon wasted no time in scamperind away. Swiftly, he dashed towards the townhall, which was mercifully left untouched by the greenskins.

Relief washed him as he made it through the double oaken doors and into the embrace of his family. I'm alive. Were the first thought that came to his mind as one of his neighbours quickly urged him to help barricade the windows nad ensure that no orcs could come in and harm the occupants in the hall. Urgency drove Jon to his feet as he quickly complied, but not before stealing a glance out of the windows where he could see that the greenskins raiders were mainly focused on breaking into each household to take what they could instead of slaughtering its occupants, bringing what supplies that they found to the wagons that were parked in the middle of the road.

Then he heard the horn.

Immediately, the greenskins began falling back, rushing out of the houses and pulling the wagon full of supplies behind them even as soldiers rushed into the streets. To his surprise, these soldiers were not clad in the black and red livery of Durnholde Keep, rather sporting blue and gold colors on their outfits as they clashed with the greenskins that were not preoccupied with moving the wagons.

"Lordaeron has come to our rescue!" He heard a man inside the townhall shout and cheered with his neighbors as they watched the soldiers beat back the orcs. Still, despite being outnumbered, the remaining greenskins fought with increasing fervor and for a moment, Jon felt his heart sank as the orcs pushed back against the brave soldiers and began to clear a path for the wagons to leave.

"CHARGE!!!"

A squad of mounted riders rushed into the streets, the armored figure leading them swinging about with a mighty warhammer even as the purple robed woman riding behind sent balls of fire into the raiders. Almost immediately, the greenskins' gathering morale was shattered and they began running away, leaving the wagons behind as they rushed out of the village.

"Lordaeron!" Jon heard one of his neighbor cheered, a cry that was soon taken by him and his other villagers as they rushed out to welcome their saviors.

"Thank you so much!"

"No, sir, it was expected of us." Sunset watched as Captain Erik waved away the profuse thanks given by the mayor for what seemed like the twentieth time. She and Orys waited with amused grins on their faces as the Knight Captain slowly extracted himself from the crowd and began trudging across the ankle high snow towards them.

"Yeah yeah, keep laughing." The knight grumbled as he hopped on his steed, the two of them following suit on theirs. Erik took a moment to survey his men, gathering them quickly into ordered squads before giving the command to move out.

"Still, it is a good thing we arrived when we did." Sergeant Orys said as the company of Alliance soldiers left the village. "Those orcs were tearing up the place."

"Not a lot of casualties though," Sunset noted as she remembered the report that the mayor had delivered to Erik. "The orcs were focused on retrieving supplies and did not engage in a fight until we showed up."

"Perhaps the beasts were hungry in this cold weather," Erik grumbled. "Orcs are senseless monsters, so we should stop trying to think that they behave like humans." Sunset frowned at that, but said nothing as he continued, "and besides, we are here to help reinforce the internment camps, and that includes putting down any of the greenskins that endanger the people around here, understood?"

"Yes sir!" "I understand."

"Good," Erik grunted, his breath misty from the cold temperature, "now keep your wits around you, the orcs may still be hiding around here and the last thing we want to happen is to get caught off guard in deep snow."

"No worries." Sunset assured him, "I have wards in place. They shouldn't get the drop on us without me knowing first."

"Aye," Orys grinned at Sunset, "those enchantments are pretty handy. It is a good thing that you joined us, Lady Shimmer."

It was a small praise, but Sunset sat a little straighter in her saddle. The rest of the journey, however, was rather uneventful. There were no orc ambushes or bandit attacks, and the villages that the company passed by were peaceful.

Then two days passed and the company had finally arrived at their destination.

Durnholde Keep.

A mighty fortress with a village spread around it. The place looked bleak, especially with all the snow coating it and while Sunset had seen her fair share of castles and keeps, this one felt almost alien and unwelcoming.

Probably because it was supposed to be a prison. She mused as the Captain rode up to the gates and hailed the soldiers within. As the mighty oaken doors opened, Sunset was treated to the sight within, the gate opened to a large bridge which looked over a massive pit. Lining the walls of the pit were many small lodges, which were inhabited by the prisoner orcs who trudged around listlessly. At the end of the bridge was a path up a large hill, atop which sat an imposing castle.

There was where they would meet the keep's master.

As the company rode into the keep, Sunset had to stifle a grimace as an unimaginable odor hit her senses. Orys, however, was much less reserved.

"By the Light!” Sunset exclaimed, “What is that smell?"

"The orcs stewing in their own filth." Replied the captain, who was holding up a hand to his face in an effort to keep the stench away.

Feeling a light tap on the shoulder, Sunset looked over to Orys, who held out a small handkerchief in his hand. Gratefully accepting the object, she held it close to her nose as she followed Captain Erik who began heading into the Keep.

As they rode across the bridge, Sunset could not help but look down into the pits. The orcs she saw were stumbling around listlessly, some were sitting in the mud and seemed heedless of the fact that they were being imprisoned. Off in the distance, she could see a group of human soldiers directing the orcs around and the massive hulking brutes obeyed despite seemingly still physically capable of overwhelming and tearing the humans apart with their bare hands.

These orcs were a far cry from the ones that are still roaming around. Sunset mused, remembering the recent encounters she had with the greenskins. Those were far more ferocious than the ones here and Sunset briefly recalled Archmage Antonidas' work describing the greenskins' lethargy in confinement as a symptom of withdrawal from the demonic energies that had kept them invigorated during the war.

Perhaps I would have some time to study it myself. Sunset wondered as they rode up the hill, before all such thoughts left her mind as a youthful figure clad in untarnished plate armor approached from the open gates of the castle.

"Hail, I am Captain Karramyn Langston. Welcome to Durnholde Keep!"

"Good afternoon, Captain," Erik replied steadily, "I am Captain Erik, I lead this company as reinforcement for Durnholde Keep."

The youthful blond gave what probably passes for a winning smile in these parts and gestured the group to follow him. Erik and Orys were the first to follow, and Sunset swiftly urged her own steed forward. While she followed the young man, Sunset looked around the interior of the castle, taking in the sight and wondering what kind of person the master of Durnholde Keep was.

According to Erik and Orys, the man had been a war hero during the second war. Capable of facing multiple orcs and had been instrumental in a few skirmishes against the Horde in the defense of Lordaeron. Sunset could already begin to envision a man that was uncompromising and steady in her mind, clear in orders and faithful to the Alliance.

That is good. Sunset nodded. A proper commander would smooth things over very well. Her stay in Durnholde Keep would be very much more tolerable as long as the master of Durnholde Keep was as she envisioned.

Alas. The master of Durnholde Keep was a raving drunk.

Lieutenant General Aedelas Blackmoore would have cut an impressive sight with his trimmed black beard and mustache, a head full of long wavy hair and a build that suggested that he was used to hard labor. All these points were invalidated by the fact that the master of Durnholde was slouching in his chair, stinking of alcohol while his unfocused eyes kept glancing to the bottle in his hand even as he held audience with the rest of them.

It did not help matters that half of his words were slurred and the other half was unintelligible too.

"Well... Sir Knight." Blackmoore slurred as he apparently could no longer resist taking a swig from the bottle, finally taking a drink. Wiping the red stains from his mouth with his sleeve like a barbarian, he continued, "the internment camps men are spread too thin. That's why I asked for help, and with your forces, I can now have a detachment of soldiers at each camp to fend off the orcs playing liberators."

Erik, thankfully, have no difficulty talking to the drunk general and merely nodded along, "it is a good idea, milord, but may I suggest a better alternative?"

"What? You think you have a better idea than mine?" Blackmoore laughed, sending a bunch of spittle going everywhere, "well, go on, let me hear it!"

As he gestured to Sunset, the young mage walked forward, slightly puzzled by why the knight would call her forward. "This is Magus Shimmer." Sunset had to suppress the involuntary twitch to send a fireball to him as the general's eyes travelled over to her, and over all of her. "I was briefed of her capabilities, and I believe that she would be of a pivotal use in helping us support the Internment Camps."

"A spellslinger?" Blackmoore waved dismissively, "I have plenty of those in my employ already. What use is one more?" Sunset felt a great deal of disdain for the man as soon as she heard those words. Had he not noticed the robes of the Violet Citadel she was wearing? While she had a healthy respect for hedge wizards, such as Helcular, there was no doubt that magi of Dalaran were a cut above the rest.

"Begging your pardon, General," Orys interjected, "but Lady Shimmer is from the Kirin Tor."

"Oh," Blackmoore blinked, "so she is." Almost immediately, he shifted his sitting position to one that was more befitting his rank and leaned forward, "a magi from Dalaran finally shows up? I have been asking for one for ages, why now?"

"My schedule freed up," Sunset replied curtly, more out of instinct and a genuine inclination to not interact with this wastrel of a man any more than she had to.

"Ha! A girl with fire." Blackmoore laughed, "well, consider me interested, Captain." And shrugged, "but I'm going to be a tad busy for the rest of the day and I'm sure that you and your people are weary from the trip. I'd hear you out tomorrow morning. Dismissed!"

With a clap of his hands, Sunset and her companions were ushered out of the hall and into the corridors. Seething underneath, Sunset patiently waited until the General's guards finished giving Erik directions to their rooms and left them alone. As soon as they rounded the first corner, she shot out an arm and pointed at the nearest burning torch, freezing the flame into solid ice with but a thought before clenching her hand and shattering it into a hundred pieces with her magical might.

"Of all the indignities..." She growled as she looked at the Captain, "this is a general of the Alliance?"

"Apologies, Lady Shimmer," Erik sighed as he gazed warily at the pile of shattered ice on the floor, "I assure you, I did not know that General Blackmoore was... such a person. The lads back at Lordaeron only had good things to say about him."

"Aye," Orys nodded, "the man that fought in the stories in the Second War is a far cry from the man we saw today." He scowled, " and I must say that I find his need for wine a little concerning."

"And we have to work with him? For him?" Sunset muttered in dread. Under any other circumstance, she would have asked to be reassigned or be withdrawn back to the Kirin Tor. However, the latter was out of the question for the moment as she needed to be out of Dalaran to avoid... whatever it was that was going down back home. So that only left the former option.

"Unfortunately, the general is the one in charge of all operations in this area." Captain Erik replied, even as he began leading them to their rooms. "It would appear that we would have to deal with him for the duration of the mission. Our only other hope is to be recalled." Sunset felt her hope sank with that last comment.

Damn.

Aedelas Blackmoore watched as the group left his Audience Chamber before taking another swig from the bottle in his hand. Thankfully, Langston waited until he finished his drink before walking up next to him with a handkerchief in hand.

"A fiery one, eh, milord?" Langston commented cheerily.

"Too fiery," Blacmoore drawled as he accepted the handkerchief, dabbing at his mouth to remove the winestains, "I prefer my women obedient and quiet. Pity she looks so good, those looks are wasted on a temper like that."

"And she's from the Kirin Tor." Langston nodded.

"Yeah, you can never trust those sorts." Blackmoore muttered. "But that would mean that she's a cut above the rest of those wizards that you can buy with coin. Maybe she will be useful."

"You mean, for finding Thrall?" Langston suggested tensely. Blackmoore stiffened at the mention of his escaped pet orc and lashed out with a fist, sending his protege sprawling.

"Yes, you useless buffoon." He growled. Thrall. Immediately, his mood darkened. He had such great plans, but he needed that damned fool. Damn that Thrall! Blackmoore took another draught from the bottle. That useless, ungrateful greenskin that he had picked up as a baby had been integral to his plans for the future. Now, he had lost so much, the money from the Arena battles, the great plans for the future and...

And Taretha.

That traitorous little minx.

As he drank deeply from the bottle, Aedelas Blackmoore suddenly choked as a thought formed in his mind. Spluttering and waving away Langston's attempt at helping him, the general of Durnholde spat out globules of sweet red liquids onto the ground.

Thrall… where are you, my worthless little slave…?