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Orcs and Demons (part 2)
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The land was dying, and Marrosh was feeling it. As the zeppelin approached the outskirts of the city of Brill, Marrosh heard a cry of pain, a thundering one. The shaman got startled, and jumped out of his seat. The other passengers, mostly civilians, looked at the orc with uncertainty.
The Warsong orc noticed that none else had heard the scream, and understood it-the earth, it was calling for help- and a thought crossed his mind- he could just take one small break in his way, to see what he could do, the earth was linked to him in a deeper way than the other elements, after all.
He had been given four days of time to reach the Bulwark, half to make the way, half to know the place. Marrosh then noticed the zeppelin had arrived, and the passengers were exiting. The orc then took the form of a wolf, as he had been taught to, and made his way to the nearby town.
The denizens of Brill didn’t seem to look so malicious, at least the civilian ones. Marrosh knew they had been robbed of their life, and had been given the curse of undeath, but they seemed to have come to accept their current condition, with a particularly talkative Forsaken telling him: “It’s either a matter of accepting it, or going insane. And you don’t want to lose your mind.”
However, the apothecary building looked from the outside like the laboratory of a madman. A terrible stench came out of the place, which reminded the shaman of rotten corpses, an odor he had felt when the undead invaded Orgrimmar. Marrosh then walked away from the place silently, since, as a shaman, he had composure to maintain for his place in the orcish society.
The orc didn’t accept to take an undead steed, even if they were tireless mounts, unlike the worgs that the orcs mounted. He did not need a mount, nor needed to hasten his way to the Bulwark. After all, Naxxramas had retreated after an army of courageous adventurers guided by the Argent Dawn had invaded the place and put to rest all the undead beings crawling there.
Marrosh then reached the eastern exit of the town, and turned into a wolf. He had to find a tranquil place to establish contact with the earth, and try to see what he could do. He had the duty to preserve the elements intact, and to heal the land from the taint of undeath. The figure of the ghostly wolf was seen heading northeast by a red-armored figure, which dashed in a similar direction, but headed towards the cathedral.
Hours had gone by, and the orc stood impassible to his surroundings. Eyes closed. Hands lying on the ground. Legs crossed over the earth. Eventually, the orc felt, in the deeper parts of the land, the pure element of earth, untainted. He had to bring it back to the surface, as it was in Durotar. The shaman started channeling the element of earth, making it rise to the surface, but the wind warned him of danger.
The orc opened his eyes, and raised his pair of one-handed axes to stop the downwards slash of a greatsword. A human paladin, the Alliance? No, his tabard had a red flame on it, the same color of his armor. The Scarlet Crusade, he had been told. To the yell of “For the Scarlet Crusade!” the orc responded, in a stronger voice “Storm, Earth Fire, heed my call!”
The human then backed up, and the orc looked around. He was surrounded by other five humans, the group of six circling the orc in a circular fashion. The orc released his bloodlust, and as his weapons were filled with the boldness of rock, Marrosh readied himself to battle. He was one with the earth, and it started shaking.
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