[Story and bio] Argent Avenger Lokann

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»What was that?« »What?« »Something just left the citadel!«

Lokann leaned over the railing. Almost immediately he noticed what had caught the lookout's attention. A shape seemingly composed of shadow was rapidly descending from the battlements. Just before it would have hit the ground it spread what looked like giant wings and touched upon the frozen earth safely. »Must be a val'kyr,« muttered the Kor'kron. Orgrim's Hammer was well equipped to deal with a single one of the flying fiends. The gunship together with the Alliance's Skybreaker ruled over the skies of Icecrown. The citadel seemed silent most of the time, its supply routes severed by the joint efforts of the Argent Crusade and the Ebon Blade.

But then something extraordinary happened. The shape burst into purple flames and a piercing scream rent the still.

Lokann had never heard anything like it. Suddenly the shrill sound ceased. As swiftly as the fire had erupted it disappeared, leaving behind...

»Get me a scope!« bellowed the orc. One of the engineers quickly obliged. He peered through the contraption, seeking the place of impact. There! His eyes hadn't deceived him. A shape was lying on the charred ground, unmoving. If it was a Horde soldier, he felt honor-bound to save them. If it was one of the Alliance's...

His thoughts wandered back to an incident some weeks before. A scouting party hadn't reported to the commander of the vessel, and so a second one was sent to investigate. What they found disgusted Lokann. The Horde's soldiers noticed some members of the Alliance fighting the Scourge back at what was now known as the Broken Front. Instead of helping them they struck a cowardly sttack against the surprised fighters, decimating them. The Scourge took care of the rest, including the Horde's scouts. When Korm Blackscar, the brutish commander of the gunship heard of their feat, he laughed and yelled with pride: »That is what it means to be Horde!« Lokann couldn't believe his ears. The scouts had abandoned their honor for petty rivalry. Without that, they were nothing, no better than beasts. He swore under his breath and spat at the floorboards. One of Korm's guards looked him over and he felt as though he was being tried for size.

From that day on he tried avoiding Korm. Every time the commander left his quarters to examine the vessel he found some trivial job to keep him occupied. And every single time the commander would choose to specially examine exactly that part of the ship. He knew he was under surveilance, everyone was for fear of the Lich King's cultists infiltrating the armies, but this was different. He had been singled out because he didn't agree with his commander. By extent that meant he didn't agree with the Horde, no matter what the other leaders thought of the incident or Korm.

»What is that?« asked the lookout, a young female named Rykha. He shook his head. »Whatever it is, Blackscar must be informed.« She noticed the faint furrowing of his brow. »You don't have to go if you don't want to,« she whispered. »I'll tell him.« He smiled bitterly. »Thank you, but no. I'll tell him. Maybe he'll even stop suspecting me of treason.« Rykha obviously had her doubts, the unspoken thoughts evident in her expression. He could read her face like a book. They had been friends since... forever. They had first met in the internment camps. Together they had escaped, together they fought for the young Warchief Thrall, together they walked the path of the shaman... or in Lokann's case, attempted to. His teachers always chided him for being impatient and headstrong. In the end he chose a different path, never thinking about the Elements again. But then, years later he had been told he had the spark within, that he could have achieved his goal. He sighed softly and stepped away from the railing. Rykha observed him silently as he set off towards the captain's quarters.

***

»Why should we care? If you haven't noticed yet, reaver, we're in the middle of a war-zone here. We have neither time nor resources for a rescue mission!« Lokann ground his teeth. He knew he was losing the argument. Korm wouldn't budge.

»And yet...« came a smooth voice from behind the sky-captain. »Yet we may only profit from this. Think of it, captain. Whoever it is, they must be of great importance if they came so close to the citadel. If it is one of the Scourge we may... extract vital information. Likewise if it is one of the Alliance. And if it's an ally, let us just say that the Warchief is very generous to those that help the Horde's cause.« Blackscar seemed to consider the words for some time. »Help the Horde's cause...« he murmured, as if tasting the words. Finally he nodded. »You're right Koltira. It is our duty to investigate. Or should I say,« he indicated Lokann, »your duty.«

The Kor'kron reaver saluted. »For the Horde!« Korm grinned, the smile never touching his eyes. »Yes indeed. For the Horde.« Under his breath he added: »And don't you forget it.«

As Lokann was preparing his wyvern Bristlemane, Koltira approached him. »I hope you understand the importance of this quest,« he said, and the Kor'kron nodded. The death knight held out a hand and Lokann shook it. He felt a piece of paper slide from the elf's hand into his own. With a nod Koltira returned to the captain's quarters.

Silently Lokann unfurled the note.

»I advise you to remain cautious. The captain has already expressed doubts about your allegiance. It would be unwise to give him any reason for doubt again. Investigate the crash and bring back anything we might find useful. If you find any members of the Alliance bring them back for questioning but leave them to me. I will take better care of them than the captain would, and will make sure they're returned safely to their officer. Again, keep yourself from tempting Korm's wrath. And don't try keeping information from him. He is in no way a fool.

Destroy this note.«

So, this was it. Glory or failure. He just hoped he wouldn't come across any Alliance soldiers. He preferred leaving them alone, but in this harsh wasteland everyone was feeling tense, losing their temper. He had been forced to take some attackers down, and grieved for every single life lost. Still, he was his Warchief's soldier. But he sometimes asked himself if that necessarily meant he was a soldier of the Horde.

He crumpled the note and threw it off the side of the gunship.

***

»Make way! Clear the landing!«

The wyvern's claws left deep marks in the deckboards. Her mane was standing on end, and she was baring her teeth at the other orcs. She was still shocked by what they had seen at the foot of the citadel.

The lone figure now slung across the saddle had been lying motionless among charred bones of what must have once been a steed. But that was not what was troubling Bristlemane. The figure was an elf in full battle garb that looked nothing like the Scourge's gear. Yet her face and hair were white, as white as marble. There was an aura of despair about the frail, pale body. It was taking a heavy toll on poor Bristlemane as they set off towards the Hammer.

Lokann put a shaking hand on the wyvern's head, and she relaxed a little. »Korm! Where is Korm!« he bellowed.

The captain approached with a dangerous expression on his face. The reaver didn't have time for this. He quickly unloaded his mount, shoving the unconscious figure into the hands of his superior. »It's one of the... one of the Argents. I haven't seen the emblem in a long time though.« He indicated the elf's tabard. It was black, trimmed with silver and with a silver-white star embroidered at the front. Korm scowled. »What is it? I have seen the Crusade's tabards before, but never one of these.« »It belongs to the Argent Dawn. They make up a part of what we know as the Argent Crusade. However, the organisation itself...« Lokann pointed to the star. »That is the symbol of a defunct order. But that is beside the point. Get her to a healer, now!« Korm looked upon the figure. Carelessly he let her fall to the ground.

»First things first. What does all this mean, reaver?« asked the captain with contempt. Lokann tensed. »I don't know, commander.« »Really? You don't know? From your little speech there I would have assumed you knew all there is to know about...« He laughed without humour. »Well, about everything.« Knowing better than to argue, Lokann bowed his head. »I was merely suggesting...« »No, reaver. You were not suggesting. You were issuing orders like you owned the vessel.« Korm moved in closer and whispered: »Like you were my superior...«

The Kor'kron lifted his gaze defiantly. For a while, Korm seemed to be struggling not to bare his blades on the spot. Then he gave the lying figure a prod with a plated boot. »Get a healer here, quickly!« he barked.

***

»Well then, I do believe the best course of action would be to return her to whoever is in charge down there.«

Lokann knew where this was leading. He was in no way surprised when Korm pointed to him. »And I think the one best suited for the task would be the one who found the elf in the first place.« The reaver saluted.

Bristlemane was waiting for him on the lower deck. So was Rykha.

»I overheard the conversation... why you?« Lokann smiled bitterly. »You know why. Korm won't stand insubordination, so he's sending me to learn my lesson in the bitter cold.« Rykha looked down, at the battle-scarred glacier. »There's a storm coming. Korm must know that, the winds have been rising for days now.« »Still, someone has to deliver the poor thing.« Lokann's voice dropped to a whisper. »Have you seen her? She's... well, when I first saw her I was certain she was one of... them. You know, dead. Undead.« His friend nodded. »Yes, I have seen her. It's a bad sign, I say. She may not be undead, but do we know what she may be carrying within her? It could be a trap.« »The priests haven't found anything. She seems to be clear of the Plague...« »That's what they said the last time. And the time before.« She shook her head. »The Cult of the Damned has been changing their Plague all the time. We don't know what strain they're using now. Maybe...«

Someone coughed behind Lokann. He turned and noticed Korm standing in the doorway. The captain beckoned him closer, and the reaver obeyed. »Lovely little creature you have there,« said the commander. The threat was obvious from his tone. »Look, I know what this is about, Korm. I'm not blind.« Blackscar bared his fangs. »Neither am I, reaver.« He turned to Rykha. »Enjoying the view?« The young shaman blushed and moved away from the railing. »Don't be ashamed. I myself often lose myself to the glory of the battlefield below us. But luckily, I always compose myself before I slip away.« Lokann banged the door shut. »Don't you...« Blackscar grabbed the smaller orc by the throat. »Mind your tone, reaver.« He released his grip, and Lokann spat at the ground. »Don't threaten her. Don't you dare put a finger on her, or else...« »Or else what?« Lokann swallowed hard and shook his head. The captain grinned triumphantly. »I don't see why I would need to hurt her. I think it's more fun this way. Though...« Lokann breathed in deeply. He knew they were just taunts, to see if he will break. »Though I must say, I wouldn't mind laying my hand upon her.«

The red descended upon his mind. Before he knew it, he leaped at the commander. But Blackscar anticipated the attack, and in a moment he had the reaver pinned to the ground. »Well well well... what have we here? Insubordination, perhaps even treason?« »There is no treason in defying you, Blackscar!« grunted the smaller orc. The captain grabbed him by his braids and lifted his face. »Listen, scum. Up here, I am in charge. Me. Not you, not your little woman there. Me alone. Defy me, you defy Hellscream, and you defy the Warchief.« He spat in Lokann's eye. »Up here, I'm the Horde.«

Lokann stopped struggling. It was no use, Korm knew about Rykha, and even though he hated to admit it, Blackscar had been given full command of the Hammer. He lay there for several minutes, the captain's plated knee boring into his spine. Then Korm spoke. »I hope you've seen sense now.« He lifted the smaller orc to his feet and handed him a pack and a folded flag. »Get going soon. Here's a pack of flares, just break the seal if you need help. And a white flag. We wouldn't want you to get hurt, would we?« He laughed boomingly and left for his quarters.

Lokann glared at the items. In a rage he kicked down the door and threw the pack towards his wyvern. Rykha looked at him, fear in her eyes. The anger subsided in a flash, replaced with shame and sorrow. »I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped. But he...« In the silence, Rykha put a hand on his shoulder. He touched her figertips with his own. »I just can't bear... I mean, I...« Still the words wouldn't come. They stood so for a while, and then he gently pulled her hand off his shoulder. »I'll get my armour on,« he muttered.

***

All was prepared. The almost lifeless elf had been slung across Bristlemane's saddle, and both the flag and the flares were safely packed away. Rykha sat nearby, pouting. Lokann couldn't help but smile at the sight. »What's so funny?« she asked. »Nothing, nothing.« She sighed and looked out at the dark gray clouds. »Please, take care. I feel the storm... it's less than a day away now.« »Look, it won't take me a day to reach the tournament grounds. I will be fine.« She still looked concerned, and perhaps a little frightened. Feeling the need to reassure her, and himself, he pulled out an amulet.

»This used to be my mother's... I took it off her when... You remember.« She nodded. »Yes. The day of the axe. I remember.«

***

The day when they escaped their captivity was bittersweet. Lokann's mother had fallen ill several weeks before. She was in a terrible state, made all the worse by the knowledge that the humans could have helped, could have sent their healers, but thought the orcs undeserving. When she became too weak to work, too weak to stand even...

All the orcs knew the Fat Man. They never heard his true name, but he was always spoken of in whispers. Turg was taken by the Fat Man. Grakka was chosen by the Fat Man.

The Fat Man was the executioner. During the lethargy, it was his job to cull those unfit for labour.

When Thrall stormed the internment camp, Lokann and Rykha found themselves face to face with the Fat Man. He wasn't using his executioner's axe, the axe that took the life of Lokann's mother, but rather a sword. As the young orc, barely more than a child, grabbed the dreadful instrument he could hear his blood sing. It was as though generations of black blood, at the best stains upon the crusty blade by now, were speaking to him.

The Fat Man's blade broke under the weight of the axehead. Lokann delighted in the sound the bastard made as he tried to keep his entrails from spilling to the floor. He sounded like a pig being slaughtered.

***

He handed Rykha the amulet. She knew how much it meant to him, and refused to take it at first.

»It's my promise to you. I will return, we will see each other again. Take it.« With a sigh she finally gave in and put the amulet around her neck. Lokann smiled. »And if something were to happen to me... let it cry tears of blood.« he added jokingly. »Yes, let my blood flow from the gold.« They both laughed, more with anxiety than real humour.

Lokann checked his things once more. All was in place. He bid Rykha farewell one last time and slung the heavy axe across his back. He had kept it, the first real weapon he ever held. Nowadays it bore the symbol of the Horde and was adorned with wicked spikes. The hilt had been changed, and the steel had been ground down a bit to both reduce the weight and remove the terrible caked blood.

But the blade... the blade itself was still the same. It still sang with the blood of a hundred executed orcs.

***

The sun never seemed to rise over Icecrown. Dark clouds covered the sky as far as the eye could see. At the very best, a cold blue light would seep through the veil.

Rykha had been right. The air carried a sharp metallic smell that promised a storm. Bristlemane was restless, for she too could feel it. Lokann muttered soothing words to her, but his own heart was filled with doubt. Perhaps he should have waited it through. Then he thought about the elf whose life he had been entrusted with. No, he couldn't tarry.

In the corner of his eye he noticed movement. He turned his head to see an Alliance gryphon following him. There was another on the left side too. They were trying to flank him.

He fumbled nervously for the flag. He ripped off the ribbon that held the fabric in place and unfurled it.

A sheet of white linen ripped itself away from the spear-tipped flagpole. Beneath it had been concealed the blood-red banner of the Horde. Lokann had been betrayed.

He bellowed a cry of rage. Immediately the two Alliance soldiers, a dwarf and draenei, unsheathed their weapons and spurred their mounts closer still. The Kor'kron didn't have the time to reach for the axe. He ordered Bristlemane to dive just in time to dodge the dwarf's hammer.

They were relentless. The orc was forced further and further downwards. He couldn't risk letting go of the reins and grabbing the axe, so he was forced to make do with the metal-clad point of the banner.

The draenei swooped in and Lokann was too slow. The blueskin's mount took a swipe at the orc. The attack broke the spear easily and ricochetted off his shoulderplate. Again Bristlemane dived to escape their tormentors, and the distance between her and the Alliance soldiers increased. The Kor'kron knew better than to believe they would give up that easily. There had to be some way he could outsmart them...

His hand moved almost on its own accord to the pack of flares. Perhaps he could use them to blind the gryphons, buying him precious time. But as soon as he saw the smooth metal devices he knew he had been tricked again. They were not flares. They were goblin grenades.

»Damn you, Korm... you knew,« he grunted. But by now he had no choice. The gryphons were closing in for the kill. Lokann grinned nervously. This was it. Victory... or death.

»Lok'tar ogar!«

Time itself seemed to slow down as he watched the grenade hit the dwarf's mount square in the beak. He could see the confusion, the beast's last thoughts racing through its mind.

The explosion made Bristlemane whirl around like a leaf caught in a hurricane. She cried out, the sound tearing at Lokann's soul. They were losing height fast, and with a broken heart he noticed her right wing had been tattered beyond healing. He hadn't thought about the shrapnel.

The wyvern hit a snowdrift hard. Both the orc and elf were thrown off. For a moment he let himself be enveloped by the sweet call of unconsciousness.

As he came to, he crawled towards the great beast. Her breathing was laboured. The leonine muzzle was covered in blood, every breath causing bubbles to form in the dark sticky liquid. Her right side and belly had been showered in particles from the blast. It was immediately obvious there was nothing Lokann could do.

He threw his arms around the wyvern's neck and buried his face in the bloodied fur. Tears were flowing down his cheeks and mixing with the beast's blood. He could hear her heavy and erratic breathing and the beating of her heart. And with every breath came a sound that filled the painful shards of his world. The purring.

»I knew you from when you were a cub,« he said in a broken voice. »I saw you grow, I fed you, I cared for you... You can't leave me alone now.« She whined softly as though in reply. The orc lifted his tear-and-blood-drenched face. Her breathing grew more regular, but slower. The great green eyes had trouble staying open. For what seemed an eternity he held her gaze. And he understood.

»Farewell, old friend,« he muttered as he unstrapped his weapon. »I will make them pay,« he added as an afterthought.

The wyvern seemed to accept what would come. She closed her eyes and began purring again. They always do that before death. Always.

Lokann struck.

And there was only silence.

***

Lokann piled up all but one of the remaining grenades around what had once been his dearest companion. He pulled the elf away from the crashsite. Eerily, her state hadn't changed in the slightest.

He took one last look at Bristlemane. Then he glanced at the goblin-made device in his hand. Without a word he flung it at the wyvern's lifeless body and threw himself at the ground.

The blast was horrific. As he looked up he saw that a part of the glacier had been completely obliterated.

»The Scourge will never get you. Rest well.«

He felt the wind change. The metallic smell grew even stronger. Then, almost instantaneously, snow began to fall. The storm had caught him.

He ripped a length of cloth from the blanket the unmoving elf was wrapped in and partially covered his face with it. Then he lifted up the pale figure and set off into the blizzard.

***

Every breath burned his lungs. The storm was taking a heavy toll on him.

Lokann's foot slipped. He fell down to one knee, almost dropping the elf. He tried to stand up again, but to no avail. His legs felt leaden.

The orc took in his surroundings. There was not much to contemplate. Snow as far as the eye could see, with overhanging cliffs, perhaps of rock, perhaps of ice. His only hope was finding someone else in this frozen wasteland.

He didn't know for how long he had been silently observing the land. He just found himself trudging through the snow again with no recollection of standing up.

Then he noticed a faint glow in the distance.

Fire.

***

The draenei was locked in combat with what seemed to Lokann like a flock of dragonlings at first. Once they had indeed been whelplings, before the Lich King's terrible curse animated their broken bodies and made them fight in his name.

The blueskin was the same one that had assaulted him, yet Lokann bore him no grudge. The Broken Front was still a fresh wound in the Alliance's memories. Luckily, the new threat meant the draenei had left the campfire he had lit in a small crevice unattended, and his gryphon was nowhere to be seen. It had probably suffered the same fate as Bristlemane.

The orc sat down heavily beside the fire. He could feel his strength slowly returning. When he thought himself strong enough, he pulled out his axe. Time to fix a thing or two.

The draenei's twin axes were engulfed in flame, cleaving through whelps with ease and leaving behind only charred bones. However, he seemed to be tiring, and the monsters just kept coming.

Suddenly a large axe split one of the assailants in half. The shaman's eyes widened as he saw the orc enter the fray as his ally. Then he nodded with grim determination.

***

»The spirits here are fickle. There are even times when they simply refuse to listen.«

The shaman's voice was calm and soothing. Lokann could scarcely believe this was the same person that he had fought with and against not so far ago. They were both using the Common tongue tinged with their respective accents.

»I thought a shaman's calls were just that: calls. I did not expect the Elements to just turn away like spoiled children.« The draenei smirked at the orc's words. »In many ways that is what they are, some more so than others. Fire is known for being unpredictable. Interestingly, it seems to listen to my calls more often here in Northrend.«

The battle against the undead wyrmlings made the draenei listen to Lokann's words. He was not quite certain whether he should believe his former enemy or not, but the state of the unconscious elf quickly made him change his mind.

He told the orc his own story. After the explosion his gryphon was stunned more than hurt. The beast managed to shake its rider off and quickly flew away. Without a mount the shaman was trapped unless he could find a way to reach the Argent Tournament safely.

Still, the blueskin was not at ease around the Kor'kron. But then, why should he be? Lokann's people had slaughtered the draenei to the brink of extinction, he himself had taken down the shaman's comerade-in-arms. Yet still the draenei decided to share his shelter and even rations with him.

***

They set out together once the snowfall receded. The elf was slung across Lokann's shoulder and the draenei watched their back. Presently they could see one of the towers guarding the entrance to the tournament grounds. The orc allowed himself a moment of rest.

»Put the elf down.«

He turned his head towards his companion. The draenei still looked calm, but there was a dangerous fire in his eyes. Lokann obeyed him.

»I left you alone yesterday because I knew you were weakened. But today...« Lokann couldn't believe his ears. The shaman ground one axe against the other and flames licked the steel.

The Kor'kron felt his fingers automatically graps the hilt of his weapon. But if I use it against him, what will that make me?

In a single motion he pulled out the axe and threw it into the snow. The draenei ignored the gesture. »So, you're not even going to give me a fair sport? Damn you orcish cowards.« »I am not a coward. I merely do not wish to fight you.« »And you think throwing away your weapon will stop me from killing you?« He had moved in closer and was hefting the axes menacingly. Still the orc didn't answer. »Your Horde didn't stop at killing unarmed draenei. You saw our cities slaughtered, and you laughed. What makes you think I will not kill you?« Lokann looked his adversary straight in the eye.

»You're not us.«

***

The Kor'kron stumbled onto the tournament grounds. He made sure the elf was passed on into good hands. He visited a healer. He was given food and drink to help him regain his energy. He was even allowed to sleep in one of the Crusade's tents.

But even in the night he was tormented by the memory.

The shaman had charged. As fast as he could, Lokann dodged the fiery blades. Again the draenei slashed at him, and again the orc evaded the blow. The blueskin left himself open for but a moment and the Kor'kron punched him in the stomach.

His attacker stumbled, lost his footing, and slid down the mountainside. Lokann didn't dare check if the shaman was still alive. He merely grabbed the wrapped-up elf and set off, anxious to escape the harsh landscape.

***

Lokann was alone in the cell. They should have been transported to Orgrimmar as was the usual procedure when a Mak'gora was issued. But these hard times required change, so they would have to make do with an improvised ring just outside Warsong Hold.

The Kor'kron had approached his former commander as soon as he returned to Orgrim's Hammer. He accused the captain of plotting against him. Of course Korm was not one to back away from a challenge. He was quick to present Lokann's reaction to the Alliance soldiers as treason against the Horde. With all the facts pointing at the commander being right, Lokann was clasped in chains and thrown into the ship's cells.

He could hear a hatch open. He turned his head. »You fool...« muttered Koltira. »What did you have to go and do that for? Korm was looking for excuses to get rid of you and you set your own head on the chopping block.« »There was nothing I could do, death knight,« grunted Lokann. »Spare me your self-pity. You've gotten yourself into this mess. You'll have to damn well get yourself out too.« The orc smiled bitterly. »I know, and I know the way too. I will challenge Korm to the Mak'gora.«

The elf stood silent. He covered his eyes with a plated hand. »You really do have a deathwish. Look at Korm, then look at yourself. You're weak. You could never take him on.« Lokann raised his chin defiantly. »Orgrim Doomhammer defeated Blackhand even though he did not have the advantage of the demon blood.« Koltira sighed. »I'm wasting words here. I do believe I have never met anyone quite so stubborn. Fine then, get yourself killed.« The death knight was just leaving when he seemed to remember something. »Oh yes, your little friend was called back to Grizzly Hills. An urgent matter I'm led to understand.« Lokann knew what Koltira meant. The elf had arranged Rykha's safety under the command of Warlord Gorgonna.

The challenge came as a bit of a surprise to Blackscar. Then he grinned viciously and ordered a mage to deliver the message to Borean Tundra. The fight would take place in three days.

***

The cheers and cries were deafening, but Lokann could scarcely hear them. He was utterly focused on the clang of steel against steel.

Korm was a powerful foe. He had replaced his twin axes with a greatsword. Somehow he managed to parry every single blow thrown at him.

As the larger orc lunged, Lokann jumped to the side. This gave him a little more time to gather up his strength. As Korm whirled to parry the blow he knew was coming, the reaver struck with all his might. But he didn't attempt to hit Korm, rather he aimed directly at the blade.

A spike was knocked off the axe and slashed open Korm's thigh, but that was nothing compared to what happened to the sword. The steel shattered under the heavy blow.

Lokann grinned triumphantly. His breathing quickened as he saw Korm throw away the useless weapon in a gesture of defeat. Now only one thing remained...

He glanced at Garrosh Hellscream. The Horde champion would be the one to declare the winner. Lokann saw the brown-skinned orc stand up. He slowly raised his fist.

Lights flashed before Lokann's eyes. Random pictures swam in and out of vision. Then he knew no more.

***

He was once again in a cell. He had awoken some time before with a terrible headache.

Someone was fumbling around the lock. Almost in a trance he saw the doors open and an old orc entered. Lokann only knew him from afar.

»How are you feeling?« asked Eitrigg. Lokann grunted in reply. The older orc gave him a concerned look. »You fought well. Shame about the end though.« The reaver grunted again. An awkward silence descended.

»So, what happened?« asked the younger orc finally. »What do you mean?« »I can only remember seeing Hellscream stand up, then... darkness.« Eitrigg sighed heavily. »Maybe staying ignorant would have been for the best... but you do deserve to know. See, when you looked away, Korm grabbed the opportunity. The outcome of a Mak'gora is only decided when the winner is proclaimed. Thus, Blackscar improvised a little and hit you square in the face.« Lokann couldn't believe it. »But I won! I defeated him!« Eitrigg shook his head. »No. He won. It was not honourable, but those were the rules.« Lokann stood up. »Damn the rules then! He is a lier and a cheater! He deserves to be executed!« Eitrigg held up a finger. »Ahhh, now that's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about...«

***

The tundra lay stretched out before him. It was a beautiful land, yet deadly.

Eitrigg had convinced him to grab the last chance he had. He knew he would be seen as a coward. He knew Orgrimmar would curse his name. But he could either live as a coward or die for a lie.

He had appeared before Hellscream and the other judges. He listened as the charges against him were brought up. As the Warsong commander was about to order him executed, Lokann pulled out a folded banner. A golden sun on a field of pure white.

His possessions were taken from him. Even the axe, his first weapon. That was the worst blow. But as a traitor to the Horde he was not allowed to keep anything that had been part of his former life.

Still, now that he watched the sun rise over the tundra, and listened to the calls of the great mammoth herds, it stirred his heart. He was only wearing a loincloth, so the biting cold was almost impossible to bear.

And yet, he was free. He wanted the world to know it, so he bellowed a primal greeting to the rising sun, to the herds of the great beasts, to friend and foe alike.

***

Rykha gazed into the flames as if in a trance. Her brow furrowed. The fire wouldn't answer her questions. She could not find him, didn't even know whether he was alive or not...

A tear hit the hot stones. And another. And another. She wept openly now, never caring for a moment if someone saw her. Defiantly she stared into the fire, her vision blurred.

A soft wind caressed her face. She smiled. At least one of the great spirits still held compassion for her. She could hear its voice now...

Why do you cry, young one? »I lost everything, spirit. My friend has been taken away from me, and the fire would not aid me.« Yes, fire is stubborn. It will not give in so easily. It will not listen to you as long as it thinks you not humble enough. »Not humble enough? What more must I do? I am broken and still it thinks me not humble enough?« Her voice was tinged with rage. She heard a sound similar to that of a windchime. The spirit of air was laughing. That is exactly why fire won't help you. You pity yourself too much. Your cause is too personal. She looked flustered, but understood. She held her head up proudly as she said: »Let fire think what it will. If it denies its help, then I shall make my own way.« Again the spirit of air laughed. But now the sound was joined by another one, akin to the crackling of logs. You have fire in your soul. I like that. »Then aid me, great spirit. Listen to my plight.«

And the spirit finally listened. When she finished speaking fire told her what to do. Rykha took a handful of earth from the ground. She opened her water-bottle and poured the liquid over the dirt. She spread the mud equally over her whole hand. Then she reached into the flames.

For a moment the fire burned with such intensity that it should have scorched her skin right off, yet she was untouched by the inferno. As she pulled her hand out again it was still burning, the flames twisting and reshaping themselves...

In her hand a small blazing bird perched. She started the incantation, binding the little elemental to the mortal plane and giving it a purpose. As she finished she stood up and lifted her hands to the moonlit sky. The bird cawed once and spread its wings. Rykha watched the beautiful fiery beast as it soared slowly out of sight.

»Wherever you may be...« she said softly, the whisper meant only for her ears.

***

Lokann dreamed. In his dream he was back in the Barrens, hunting for kodo. Suddenly a great fiery eagle descended from the sky. Its wings filled his vision, remade the landscape into a raging wildfire. And from the flames a familiar figure arose.

Tears were flowing down Rykha's cheeks, tears of loss and of joy. She smiled and wiped them away. »Are you all right?« she asked. He didn't understand why she was asking him that. Still, he wanted to make her feel better, so he answered. »Yes, I am.« »Where are you?« she asked. He was confused. »Why, right here.« Rykha shook her head and laughed. »I meant your body, where is your body?« Now he knew what she meant. This was a vision. As he realised that he felt himself being dragged back towards the waking world. Quickly he spoke: »I am sleeping at the tournament grounds in Northrend. I got myself new armour and... a new axe.« His voice trailed off. There was something more he wanted to say, but didn't dare to. The vision was fading quickly, and now he could barely discern Rykha's face. »I...« he began, but the dream faded.

Crusader Lokann opened his eyes. It was still dark, which was a constant in these cursed lands. He turned in his bed and tried to sleep in again. Just before he dozed off he whispered: »I miss you.«

Outside the tent a blizzard raged, already all but covering a small patch of thawed snow...

***

Name: Lokann

Allignment: Chaotic Good

Race/Class: Orc Warrior

Physical appearance: Short for an Orc (he's about as tall as a grown male Human), with waist-long black hair, usually braided. He doesn't shave, but he keeps his beard trimmed.

Personality: Stubborn, but honourable. Will first consult his own feelings rather than the judgement of others. Supports the peace between the Horde and Alliance, and still cares for his people even though he sees himself as having been forsaken by the Horde.

Powers: Very good with any two-handed weapon, prefers axes.

Languages: Fluent in Orcish, speaks fairly good Common.

[Vadoor]

Excellent story, as usual. Its long, but the read is worth it.

[Venziir]

Bravo! I must say, I am quite sure that my shaman would get along quite good with your warrior, despite the lack of faith in the Horde :P

[Deleted]

Continuation of the story.