OOC: This is the tale of Grawuulf's beginnings....Vrugz - don't bother reading, you won't get through the first paragraph and there is no Vrugz' abbreviated version.
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Present Day Azeroth.....
Grawuulf stood alone atop the small rise. He looked down as he laid the final stone on the neatly stacked pile of rocks that served as a Cairn, an ancient tradition marking the final resting place of an honored Hero of the Horde. The wind whipped his cloak about as he knelt down and placed his hand on the cold stone. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander through ancient memories....
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20 Years ago.......
The young orc sat staring at the aged book before him. The solitary candle illuminated the small work desk, but little else. The rest of the small chamber remained veiled in darkness.
With a small sigh, he closed the leather bound book.
"I've read this text a dozen times, master. Why must I read it again?" he asked into the shadows.
"You must train your mind as you train your body, Grawuulf." came a deep voice from the darkened corner of the room.
"But, I already know how to speak and read in the human tongue. It's bad enough you make me use it all the time. The other orcs mock me in camp." Grawuulf complained.
He heard a soft chuckle and the ruffle of cloth. A large figure separated itself from the gloom and stepped into the small circle of light. Grawuulf looked up at his mentor. A brutish figure, even by Orc standards, he towered over the young orc. Although beginning to show the signs of his age, powerful muscles still stretched the linen of the tunic covering his massive frame. Intelligent eyes looked out from a weathered and scarred face. He placed a battle-worn hand on his young pupil's shoulder.
"One day you will understand, Grawuulf. Already the winds of change have begun to blow. Your world will never be the same and the path set forth for you will require a more....." the older orc paused searching for an adequate explanation, "....subtle approach and keener insight into your surroundings. There are those that will depend on the information and talent only those of our kind can provide."
"You mean orcs?" Grawuulf asked.
Again, his mentor let out a small chuckle. "No, Grawuulf. Not orcs. Our kind is not limited to racial borders. Throughout history, there have been those from all races that were gifted with certain innate talents. The ability to blend with our surroundings, to walk unseen, to move faster than others can see. We go by many names and wear many faces. Some call us Shadow Walkers, others call us spies. Those that fear us label us Rogues and Assassins. I am such a creature Grawuulf, as are you."
The younger orc tilted his head pondering his teacher's words. "So, through study, I can observe, and understand?" he asked.
His teacher nodded. "With knowledge comes power, Grawuulf. Perhaps the greatest power of all. There are those with skill that blindly apply their trade. Some for profit, some for vanity, but ultimately they falter. They are short sighted and often deceive themselves. In the end, they are but tools for those with the knowledge to wield them. So ask yourself my young pupil. Is it better to be the craftsman or the tool?"
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Grawuulf smiled at the memory as he pulled his cloak about his body to ward off the evening chill. With reverence, he reached into one of his many pockets and drew out a finely crafted dagger. The setting sun danced like fire off of the etched runes that ran the length of the blade. Pulling aside some of the rocks at the base of the Cairn, Grawuulf laid the blade gently within the vacant space. With care, he replaced the disturbed stones. Standing once more, he again let his mind drift back....
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10 Years ago....
Dust swirled around the two combatants. Sunlight reflected off the blades of their daggers as they rolled through a series of thrusts and feints. Sweat glistened upon their arms and torso. The clash of steel on steel rang through the trees surrounding the practice yard.
Grawuulf lunged at his instructor, his blade angling for his heart. The larger orc, impossibly fast, slid to the side. Catching his pupil's wrist, he twisted the hilt free while in the same motion brought his own dagger to bear and lightly rested its tip against the younger orc's throat.
"You give yourself away, Grawuulf" he said as he lowered the dagger. Grawuulf grunted as he stooped to retrieve his own weapon. "You still fight with anger. The blood lust runs in your veins, but you are not a mindless animal. You must learn to control it for it clouds your judgment and keeps your mind and body from acting in unison. Your skill is considerable. Trust in it. "
Nodding, the younger orc wiped the dust from his blade and took up a fighting stance. Drawing a deep breath he closed his eyes. He focussed his thoughts inward until he could feel the beat of his own heart, the pressure of his muscles poised for battle, individual beads of sweat as they tracked across his body. He could feel the very air around him seem to come alive. Opening his eyes, the world about him jumped into vivid clarity. In that moment, he moved.
He moved not as a normal being moves from gate to road, traversing the distance in between, but rather, he simply stepped from one location to the next as if the distance in between did not exist at all.
His hand flew at his tutor with unnatural speed, the blade grasped within it, seeking an opening from which to taste blood. Back and forth they danced across the clearing. Onlookers could see nothing of the battle save their blurred silhouettes, so fast did they move.
Though the fight lasted but a half minute, to the young Grawuulf, it seemed like hours. Focussed on his opponent, his mentor, his friend, he let his body flow with the rhythm of his movements. It happened so quickly, Grawuulf did not consciously register the movement. The dagger came in seeking his throat. Sensing it more than seeing it, he spun around the outstretched arm, his own dagger coming around in a vicious arc and stopped, its blade resting on the exposed jugular of his Master.
Breathing heavily, he lowered his dagger. He saw a smile play itself across his mentor's lips. "You are ready, Grawuulf. Come, we have tasks for you."
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Present Day Azeroth....Earlier that Evening
Grawuulf entered the study. He could see his Master diligently reading the countless reports that littered his desk. Soundlessly he approached his tutor. Age had taken its toll on the old orc. His beard had turned silver some years before, his skin bore wrinkles like scars against the inevitable march of time. Though aged, his Master still emanated a sense of power and authority that impressed Grawuulf. He stood patiently by the old orcs desk waiting to be acknowledged.
Several minutes passed before the old orc looked up. He looked into his pupil's eyes and nodded to himself as if agreeing with an unspoken dialogue. Stepping close to the old orc, Grawuulf placed a hand on the desk, the other naturally rested on the hilt of one of his daggers. "We know, Master. The Chief has known for quite some time." he said simply.
The old orc sat back in his chair and placed his hands in his lap. He looked up at his protege and studied him as if for the first time. Again, he nodded to himself but said nothing. After a moment, Grawuulf spoke.
"A long time ago, when I was but an orcling, you asked me a question. It took me years to understand that question, but I now know why you asked it in the first place. I want you to know your tutelage did not fall on deaf ears." As he spoke, Grawuulf drew his dagger. His tutor looked up into the grey eyes of his pupil as Grawuulf slid the knife into his chest. "It is better to be the craftsman," Grawuulf whispered, sorrow and resolve choking his voice. "It is always better to be the craftsman".
As his lifeblood seeped from the wound, the old orc smiled. He reached up and gently touched Grawuulf's cheek. "Well done, my boy. Of those I've taught, I knew you alone would one day understand. Honour my memory." Grawuulf took the old orc's hand in his own and held it while his mentor closed his eyes forever to this world.
