Braggha applying again!

Undercity never sleeps.

Only beings who may have a need for sleep in there — sitting in catacombs'cages, prisoners of the undead. Never granted.

This night is particuarry dark, but close to no lights can be seen from outside city walls. Undercity keeps its secrets very carefully.

But this night, if someone looked at the top of north tower, he would see a small light. A candle light, nothing more, but still can be seen from a distance. It would attract numbers of vampire bats floating around, but Forsaken guards are very good with crossbows. And they do not need light for it.

If our curious, invisible spectator could fly into the window, and see what's inside, he'd see a big wooden table, various weapons lying on it (and something, resembling a mask, made from wolf's heal skin), and big figure, sitting and writing something with a quill, on big piece of parchment.

Our writer is very big, he wear thick, dark red robes with hood. Only his hands, holding quill and parchment, can be seen. Hands are greenish-blue tint, and overall, any inhabitant of this world, could recognize that sitting behind the table, is huge orc, ignoring the fact that it is unusual to see such creature writing.

He was writing for long time. Damned fingers, so twisted, barely able to hold quill. “Damn better for holding the sword”, he mumbled. Too cold. Damned candle, just a tiny bit of light, not warm at all. Too cold.
He remember the cold. Memories, haunting him for a long time, took over again, pain bursted in the head, cramped fingers squeezed and broke the quill.

Memories. He, Braggha Steelclaw, was fierce warrior, master of battle axe, sword and shield. Having rich past, he was lucky to overcome all enemies he meet, only number of scars on his hide left as a reminders. Company of heroes, mercenaries and treasure hunters he joined, The Hungering Cold, was promising place to be. During Scourge war, they heard the Horde call, and to Northrend they came, not for Horde to be honest, but for gold and glory mainly. Everyone was full of joy, gold was flowing, and Scourge was dying so easilly at the start.

Then came the nightmare.
Inside of Icecrown Citadel, the horror dwelled. Enemies was everywhere, they attacked from all directions, all the time. Dark visions, the nightmares, was haunting everyone who step inside. Many died, many run in fear and never came back. Horde forces was progressing very slowly, and price was high. Alliance forces was there as well, adding to kill counter, for both sides.

“Damned cowards”, orc mumbled. He remember, how they met being, called Dark Queen. Vampire, she could arrive in any point of battlefield, drinking all blood of her enemy in seconds, then vanish again. He stayed, overcomed fear, keeped his brothers safe with his hug shield and axe, and fiend and her minions died. His hair turned snow-white this day. But he stayed. Didnt run. “Damned cowards”.

When his final battle begun, he though that everything gonna be over soon. Lich King got cornered on top of the Citadel by both Alliance and Horde. Scourge minions was falling.

Then, icy-cold spike pierced through orc's hearth, and, unable to hold himself straight any longer, in last burst of anger, he grabbed biggest undead horror, throw himself from the edge of the platform, into the void.
He didnt heard roar of Horde warriors, when enemy was defeated, and Horde and Alliance turned to each other, with bloodied weapons ready...

Too cold. He was only able to feel the cold. Cold was burning through him.

— Freezing, huh — he heard. Voice was cracked, and weak. Strange feeling.
— Cold you feell, will be gone soon. Or not. — he heard. Soft laughter. — you may try to open your eyes.

Everything was blurry. He saw that he in some sort of room. Cold one. Too cold. Air was filled with poisonous-green ligh. A figure was lying on the floor befor him.

Braggha shaked his head. Orc, lying on the floor before him, looked strange. He was obviously very old, long white beard was all blood-stained. Wearing thick red robes, stained with blood and strange glowing green liquid. His huge shoulderpads was decorated with long iron spikes, with some fresh bloodied sculls impaled on them.

Braggha leaned over and removed old orc's hood. And suddenly, he remembered.

— Burnblade.
— Ah, now you remember me, old friend. — old warlock tried to laugh, but cough took over him.
— But, you disappeared years ago! And I.....

Suddenly, painful flashback hit Braggha.... Frozen Throne, ice spike piercing through hearth, then long fall from the top...sound of cracking bones...darkness.

— But I was....
— Silence! We have no time. — Old orc was speaking fast..
You have no idea what I've done here.... How many living beings I sacrificed to achieve this... “cough”. Only warlock was able to do such thing before, was Gul'Dan. Finally, my long run from these Grom-damned dae'mons be over... They not gonna reach me ever!
— What....
— Shut your mouth! You was dead, and now you live. If ever, you should be grateful. I am dying now.
I payed great price to return you from the dead. Listen to me, Steelclaw. This is serious. There is something I want from you. You was young and foolish, obscessed with glory and gold, and I dont blame you. But you forgot your people's ways! Orcs is your people. I need your word, that you use your new-obtained life to take care of your people. Think about it. Gold only brough you to death. Its not the true orc way to die. Promise me!
— You dying!? But how? I mean, why...
— No time. Trust me, I put all I had in you now. Old orc dies, young orc have to....live. Yes. “live”.
— You have my word then, old one.
— Maybe its not obvious... but I'm dying in battle... even now, they trying to tear my soul apart... but they'll never have it!

After telling this, Burnblade screamed. Braggha could not recognize, be it spell in some weird language, or just expression of pain. Then warlock gone silent on the floor. His eyes was closed. He was dead.

Braggha looked around and realized, that he is standing in the center of big magical sign drawed on the floor with blood and strange green liquid. Twisted runes, surrounding the pentagram, was glowing in cold-blue light.

Around the pentagram, there was corpses lying on the floor. A lot of fresh corpses. There was humans, dwarves, elves, even worgens. Some of the heads were severed. Braggha looked at Burnblade's shoulderpads with bloodied sculls on them.

There was one more strange thing. Braggha wasnt able to recognize what's wrong. Then, realisation came to him, and suddenly, cold he was feeling, increased ten times.

His own hearth was not beating.

That was cold morning. Orc in the tower, at last, shaken memories off him, and resumed his letter.
The text is short:

“Feraleye.

You know that sometimes our past return to us, and made us do things, both pleasant and weird.
My past with Red Blades tribe was pleasant, and I do hope that some orcs still remember me with good words.

The weird part, what I have become, and what news I will bring, is other thing, and will I let orcs judge this, because I cannot be alone anymore. I need to find myself again.

I am asking you to allow me to be part of the Tribe once again. Understanding that I left Tribe earlier, I am ready to accept any punishment or rites to redeem myself again.

Any further questions I prefer to answer personally, after you see what I have become.

Braggha, one Orcs used to know as Steelclaw."

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