The Gift of the Horde

Garrosh Hellscream says: You've made a wise decision to join my Horde.

 There are some that would call us barbarians... the "mongrel races" of Azeroth.

 They are ignorant, and blind to reality. Look around you, pandaren.

Garrosh walks over to Gotura Fourwinds.

Garrosh Hellscream says: The tauren have made themselves useful. Look - this one is a shaman.

Garrosh Hellscream says: Even a blood elf can hold a sword.

Garrosh Hellscream says: Do you see it? Everyone in my Horde earns their keep. You and your friends will be no exception!

Garrosh Hellscream says: Do you understand this, pandaren?

Ji Firepaw says: Yes, warchief.

Garrosh Hellscream says: Hm. Good.

Garrosh begins walking towards the door.

Garrosh Hellscream says: Moving on. I know that you are not the only pandaren to escape from that island.

Garrosh Hellscream says: Some of your kind chose to join the Alliance.

Garrosh Hellscream says: They are now your enemies.

Garrosh Hellscream says: You may have had friends and kin who chose to cast their lot with the enemies of the Horde. They are no longer your friends... no longer your family.

Garrosh Hellscream says: The minute they put on that Alliance tabard, they died. I will NOT tolerate any lingering ties across enemy lines. Traitors to the Horde will die a traitor's death!

Garrosh Hellscream says: Do I make myself clear?

Ji Firepaw says: I... I believe so. Yes.

Garrosh Hellscream says: Good.

Garrosh Hellscream says: Meet me in the Valley of Honor. I have a gift for you.

 The Valley of Honor.. this was the heart of Orgrimmar. Deep within the city, the Huojin followed curiously, their gazes parting from the Warchief and Ji to peruse over the heavy, rock-and-metal designs of the pathways, the gates, the very homes themselves. Streets lined with guards and sellswords, archways decorated with spikes and skulls - this Horde was an impressive sight. Whispers passed among each other as they observed their surroundings, and made note of the curious, fearful and hungry eyes staring upon them. 

" Amazing..."
" So much metal.. are we in a fortress? "
" I- I don't like the look of this.."
" What is this gift, I wonder? "

Some remained quiet along the journey. One of them, clad in the silken light grey robes of a spirit talker, was listening as she was viewing.Listening to her breath, in and out, as the cloth on her chest rose and fell, as the air was sucked in, blown out to meet with the quiet breeze that wove around her compatriots. Listening as her silk-woven shoes met the hard earthen road, step after step, crunching upon sand and stone.Listening as the whirring sound of gears, cogs and taut ropes signaled machinery in motion, more than a simple spinning machine or windmill. Listening to the voices and grunts of the citizens of the Horde - tall, short, green, brown, pointy-eared, horned, pale, dark - as they passed by them, to their foreign languages, to their speech. Only the language of the orcs was vaguely familiar as the soldiers in the Wandering Isles had spoken it, but the tongue of the others was a mystery to be solved, much like most of this Horde. What different sorts of cultures did this Horde have?  Were they all warriors, as this Warchief had said? Or was there more to know of them all? 

Curiouser still were those that glowed with pale orbs of sunken yellow. For as she listened, she could hear no breathing among them. Bones jutted out, but without blood. Flesh was pale as marble. What kind of strange beauty and monstrosity were they? Or were they spirits manifest? 

Her thoughts were jarred as those in front of her halted their step. From the side of the crowd, she could make out that there were orc warriors in front of them - orc warriors clad in elaborate armor that painted them as colossal juggernauts of battle. In front of them they held out their axes, halting anyone else from entering as Ji went with the Warchief..... into this. A building almost as tall as a pagoda, but wider, much, much wider, its structure curling like the round edges of a podium, but there was nothing she could think of that needed a podium this large. Was this his palace? But no, they were at his throne before, an overbearing tower of authority that held his throne of iron. She could hear cheering from within its walls, echoing from a hollowed roof. Was it some sort of theater? 

As the Huojin awaited the return of both men, they could hear more sounds from within the structure. The cheers had silenced as the distinct voice of the Warchief resounded. The voice of the Warchief himself was drowned out by roars that none of them could distinguish. In confusion, the rabble broke out among them, with speech thrown around in their own tongue. What sort of gift was this that would roar so? What had Ji been given?   

Even she, the listener, had no answers when the guardsmen finally lowered their weapons. One by one, her fellow Huojin were allowed in; one by one, the crowd diminished, until at last it was her turn. She stepped forward eagerly, her curiousity all but spurred on by this immense mystery as she entered the building. As she passed the doors, she could see the audience littered as little dots on the seats, protected by tall walls while the blazing Durotar sun bore down upon them. And directly across from where she was, she could see the Warchief Hellscream, seated atop another throne built for him on what she perceived to be their " theater" of sorts. The way the audience was seated and his gaze bore down on her and the grounds, she knew that in this " theater" she was the show.  She stepped forward, bowing low before the Warchief. 

" Welcome to the Ring of Valor, pandaren. Make yourself comfortable while I finish preparing. "

" Thank you, Warchief. "

When she raised herself from her bow, she took a seat where she stood, and looked around. The floor was covered with gratings, surrounded by stocky wooden beams and metal that was covered in deep notches. This seemed more like a training ground rather than a theater.. or an arena.

" It looks like we're finally ready, pandaren. Prepare yourself for combat! "

" Combat..? " She wondered aloud as she rose to her feet. A large gate opened before her, revealing a lumbering shape in the shadows. 

" Yes, pandaren! This is my gift to you.. a gift and a trial. Show me what you can do! Show me you deserve a place in my Horde! "

From the shadows beyond the gates, she saw the shape of a lumbering creature. Whatever it was, it was tall, its footsteps were heavy, and it was walking towards her. As it came closer she could hear the sound of its footsteps pick up faster, and faster, and soon she realized they were not feet but hooves, hooves of a thundering beast that grew louder and grunted as its walk tore into a gallop until she saw its brief shape as it surged towards her. 


" LOK'TAR OGAR! VICTORY OR DEATH! "

The spirit-talker's eyes widened as the creature's form emerged from the shadows, and in an instant wild winds whipped around her body, throwing her from its path. The thundering beast crashed where she once stood, its heavy hooves slamming so hard into the ground that sawdust rose from the timber and she could feel it shake beneath her feet. 

Death indeed.  The beast snorted, quickly stomping its feet and turning around to face her once more. She now saw that it had a most peculiar shape - it ran on all fours, yet had a torso that appeared like an overgrown hozen and wielded an axe in its thick arms. What sort of exotic creature was it that this 'Warchief' had chosen to send against her? 

It tore across the arena floor once more, and she wove out of danger with her winds. But just running out of danger was not going to finish the fight. It was a trial, after all...which meant someone had to lose. If she fell at the beast's hooves or axe, she would be nothing more than a crumpled mess of flesh and blood. 

Victory or death.

As the beast stomped on the ground, turning to face her once more, dust rose from the floor. Dust which picked up in the winds that grew stronger and stronger. As the creature roared with its thundering charge, it was met with the howl of twisting wind rising around it. By the time it once again missed its target and halted, the winds had transformed into a sandstorm that swallowed the entire arena. The cheers of the audience turned into confused rambles. 


"SILENCE!  "

The arena quieted down, save for the howling winds and the growls of the frustrated beast, swinging its axe wildly in the storm. What kind of fight, the spectators mused, was this? Not the audience, not the Warchief who seemed focused on the invisible battle, not the magnataur, which was their name for the beast - did the pandaren even have sight of her enemy? 

 Within the storm, the spirit talker had her eyes closed. She did not see, because she did not need to. Around her, the spirits that led the twisting winds told her what she needed to know. The roars of the beast were muted as she focused on what they had to say.

Charging across the arena, reckless, enraged. Close and then far, diving left, right of her,  or in her direction, walls close, closer, one step back and you'll touch it. 

Her hands closed and focused the power of her allies into a crackling surge of energy. In a second this energy burst forward in a bright stream, inciting loud cries of anger and agony as it struck deep into the creature's side. And then it turned, its eyes catching the direction of the stream, and broke into a charge once more at her. Once again, she whisked herself aside.

This time, it would not stop in time for the wall. 

Not that it had a chance to, given how blind the creature was, but if it could not see the wall, it could certainly feel it. Its agonized howl did not drown out the loud crash of its body crashing into stone and metal, or the crunch of bones breaking from the impact. The pain caused the creature to whirl around, enraged, and swing its weapon wildly into the dust, hoping to catch the spirit talker with its edge. But she was no fool, and from a distance her crackling stream struck its arm, forcing the creature to release the handle mid-swing, sending the massive axe flying out.

Blind with pain, the creature did not notice as the dust began to settle, the winds beginning to calm. Those around the arena had a clear view as the axe was spun in the air by invisible spirits, and then drawn back down in a sickening crunch of bone and flesh. 

" RAAAGHHHHHHH!"

The magnataur roared, then crashed onto the floor in agony, with its own weapon sticking out from its spine like a grotesque flag of defeat. As the dust settled fully to the ground, the warchief's gaze traveled from the broken body of the writhing magnataur in its death throes, to the pandaren as she drew her hands together, focusing the stream of energy as before. This time, the very air around her seemed to whirl into a vortex and burst forward into the stream, crackling angrily as it surged into the axe, and through it, into the creature's spine.

" GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGKKKKkkkkhhh...."

The magnataur  roared in agony, writhing and convulsing violently on the ground before finally letting out a last, tortured gasp. Its fingers, wrapped around the handle of its weapon in an effort to pull it out, went slack, as did the rest of its body when it fell to the earth in a thud. The spirit talker turned to the warchief, bowing low.

" Victory or death, Warchief Hellscream. " 

Garrosh turned to the pandaren with an unsure frown for a long moment, then finally broke into a grin.

" Well done, pandaren. Welcome to the Horde. "