Droog

Droog looked up from his “work.” Sunspring Post was in a shambles. Droog and his fellow Murkblood had shown those filthy orcs what happens to those who cross the Draenai. Broken though he may be, and cut off from the Light, he wasn’t going to let the beasts get away with the genocide of his people. Their cries of innocence had fallen on deaf ears. Who cared that they had not drunk the blood of Mannoroth? They were still filthy orcs, and the Murkblood intended to take back this land, the only part of Draenor relatively untouched by Ner’zul’s insanity.

And then this traitorous Kurenai had come with his war party. They had tried to stop the Murkblood, but Droog’s comrades had been victorious. And now this scum was the only one left. Droog pummeled him again as his partner, Achma, held the Kurenai with his arms pinned painfully behind him. This interrogation was going well, Droog thought.

Suddenly Achma cried out in apparent pain and dropped the prisoner. He looked wildly around and then ran toward what at first looked to Droog like a vague shadow. Droog’s comrade had his cudgel out and was swinging at the apparition. Droog ran to assist Achma. As he came closer, the shadow clarified into a form. For some reason Droog found it difficult to discern the personage when looking directly at it. When he looked out of the corner of his eye, however, he could make out the strange being. He had seen some from a distance some time before, the “hew-mons.” This one appeared to be female.

As Droog ran toward the scuffle, a voice entered his mind, screaming a thousand Words in a thousand languages. They all meant one thing: Pain. Droog stumbled but pushed on; his comrade was in dire straits. He came within striking distance and swung his axe at the shadow. The axe seemed to make contact with something somewhat solid, he felt the impact travel along the weapon handle, at any rate. But now he was beginning to feel somewhat nauseated. The feeling intensified along with the echoes of Pain. He felt like something was devouring him from the inside out.

His blows seemed to connect with flesh, but were muted. Then, suddenly, the air around the being began to glow, though the being herself remained but a shadow. Out of desperation, Droog quickened his swings, but the woman appeared unaffected now. In fact, she seemed to be strengthening. Achma finally collapsed, and the woman turned her full attention to Droog. She was obviously incanting something, but her glowing shield was beginning to weaken and Droog redoubled his efforts to break through it, seeking vengeance for his fallen comrade. How dare this hew-mon interfere with the Murkblood!! Suddenly the incantation was done and Droog staggered, as his very mind seemed to explode. He became enraged, losing all sense of martial training, hacking almost blindly at the woman. The woman seemed to scream, but it only sounded in Droog’s head and he ran, terrified. Unfortunately, his legs didn’t seem to want to move fast enough to get away, like she was dragging him back toward her. He scanned the area for more Murkblood nearby that might help him, but all he saw were corpses. He recovered his senses and turned back toward the shadowy figure. The nagging pain seemed to renew itself and he could tell she was casting another spell. He had to reach her before she finished it. He managed to kick her and stopped her incantation but he was feeling particularly weak now, unsure of how much longer he could last. The figure said then said a Word, which Droog heard in a thousand languages in his head. This time, however—mercifully—the Word was Death.
***
Rowan looked down at the crumpled form at her feet. She sank to her knees . . . and wept.