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New Dawn

The heat was sweltering, rising up from the hard packed dirt in shimmering waves and distorting the view of the road ahead. The lack of breeze made the humidity hang heavily against the skin, making an uncomfortable stickiness to cling to the inhabitants. For those that made these lands their home this was just a typical day. Out in the heat and sun they went about their business, and took to the shade when able. Along this same road came a single rider, their form blurred by the same heat and humidity that was making the Orc sentries seek the shade closest to the great walls they guarded. It took them no time at all to identify the dark dot on the horizon as a rider, however, and a runner was sent to the Warchief to forewarn him. There was no telling from here if the rider was alone, or a foreshadowing of a oncoming force.

The time crawled on, nearby creatures chittering and the steady hum of insects made the wait strenuous to endure. The runner who had been sent to the High Overlord came back in time for the shimmery figure to have struck anger and fear into those watching its approach. Out of breath and with sweat running down his forehead the Orc huffed a snarled acknowledgement that this particular rider was anticipated. Against the probability this outsider was to be allowed through, and even escorted to the Warchief's command center. This was obviously not the answer they had expected as they stared quite openly before their eyes pinned down the approaching horse. Unease settled about them at the glowing dead eyes of the dead mount. The horses hooves were a unnatural glowing blue, patches of its dark pelt showed past the mixed leather and iron armaments it sported.

When the rider had finally made its way to the gates a gentle tug of the reigns brought him up short of the gates. The Orcs had their weapons in hand still and the obvious anger in their eyes did not deter the man in full plate armor. Wordlessly the figure graciously dismounted his steed and walked the short distance to them. From beneath the helm corrupted glowing blue eyes met the uneasy eyes of the sentries. The tense air had not faded and it felt as if the air itself had stood still. An aura of death emanated from the figure and the urge to strike him down where he stood was strong. The only thing staying their hand was the oath of service to their Warchief, the order to have this creature of death enter their city was a personal struggle that had no significance in what they wanted.

The rider looked to them quietly, seemingly waiting for a reaction before speaking. "I am awaited inside." The hollow echo of his voice sent their hair stand on end and grip the weapons tighter. They had not expected, perhaps, the Orcish. No. The rider knew what stirred such a reaction. The sound of his voice was grating and unnatural, as if his very words were being torn from beyond the grave rather than his own throat. Neither sentry wanted to escort the man in front of them, and pointedly looked at the third. As if resigned to his fate the Orc eyed the rider and snorted, resorting to anger and contempt over the fear and revulsion. Unwilling, or simply deciding not to, the third Orc led him into the city. His steed was left behind in the care of a stable master who put it as far from the other animals as possible.

This Orc walked ahead of him rather than beside, his steps hurried by the notion that he didn't want to be close to this man. Seemingly unaffected by this response the rider solemnly followed behind him, keeping a steady distance so as to not spook him any further. Those glowing blue eyes took in his surroundings, at the others now aware and staring as he came through the gate into the main part of the city. The hustle and bustle seemingly froze as if a spell had been cast, children hid behind parents and a stunned silence fell in the open area. It took but a second for this lull in activity to cease and the shouting to start. It was what he had been told to expect. Lord Darion Mograine had warned him that it would not be a warm welcome. Even as he remembered the others calming words he felt something hit the outside of his helm and drip disgusting juice into the top of his chest plate. A gauntlet clad hand reached up to wide it away and saw the remains of a rotten tomato.

"Monster!" Was the first word his mind let him comprehend as he was spat on. It was not the only thing being shouted at him. How dare he enter their city. The Scourge had killed their families. Get a rope. These, however, were the tamest of comments hurled at him as he followed his escort. Breathing out slowly he remained calm, not reacting or lashing out. They had right to be angry. To distrust and hate him. Like the others recently freed from the Lich King's grasp he had committed atrocities he had been unable to stop. So he let them. Doing his best to ignore the more grotesque of comments and keeping his steady pace as he was pelted from both sides. The escort, it seemed, was much more comfortable with these proceedings and had stopped his made scurry to stay ahead of him. Convenient how his fear had disappeared once among the throng of his kind.

Thankfully there was no much more between him and the Warchief and he was thankful to disappear after his escort into the building. The tense ache in his shoulders eased and he allowed himself a steadying breath before he came into the circular room full of the Horde's most powerful warriors. The escort had taken it upon himself to take a position near the opposite entrance and leave the rider alone. There across the room was High Overlord Saurfang, the Orc he had been sent to speak with. The Ebon Blade was a fledgling faction and it held both Alliance and Horde members, but their leader has stressed a need for them to establish their roots. Thus he had returned here, letter tucked into the breastplate he wore. The gazes on him made him wonder if this had been for the best. What if they refused to have his kind among them? What if, for all their efforts, they were labeled for destruction like the rest of those affected by the Scourge?

"Come, Death Knight, I hear you carry a letter."

Those gruff words were growled from Saurfang and he gathered himself up enough to take the leather contained from its resting place and approach, cautiously, to place it in the Overlords hand. Out of respect he then reached and took off his helm, short orange red hair stuck up straight back from his forehead. Long pointed ears of his race ended just past the strands of hair and his peach colored skin bore no signs of sweat. It was his eyes that stood out. Ghostly blue, glowing and ghastly to behold. A direct result of having died and been brought back to life to serve the Lich King as a Death Knight. There was another Orc present to Saurfang's right, a face familiar to all who were Horde. Thrall. The Warchief had come from wherever he had been to be present here. There was only a cursory glance at the letter from Tirion Fordring from the Warchief, his gaze settled on the Blood Elf standing before them.

"What is your name?"

The question threw him and his gaze flickered to the other. For a moment he was not sure if this was a test of if the Orc was simply curious. Many of those who had been forced into the Lich Kings service had once been heroes of their respective people. Others had died in service to either the Horde or Alliance and were known this way. "Tylanduil Embermourn, Warchief." His voice had a similar effect to those present here, except for the very Orc who had questioned him. It was curious to see him simply nod thoughtfully, glancing back to the letter and seemingly coming to a conclusion about the situation. The Death Knight had been a relatively unknown Farstrider before his unfortunate end. The devastation of his people and the trek to Northrend to fight the monster who had reaped such horrible tragedy had been filled with heroic men and women, not all whose names became known.

The silence was suddenly broken by Thrall, and the Detah Knight had nearly shown how startled he was by the power behind it. Possibly magic. Possibly just the vocals of the Warchief. "Horde, hear the call of you Warchief!" This was it. At this moment he was about to find out if he was an enemy or an ally to the Horde. Bracing himself for the worst he let this continue. If this turned badly for him he was not sure if he'd be able to escape quick enough to spare his life, but he could get word back to Lord Mograine if need be. "Today marks the firsts of many defeats for the scourge! Death Knights, once in the service of the Lich King, have broken free of his grasp and formed a new alliance against his tyranny!" Relief tumbled through him at these words, the tight knot in his chest eased. The imminent threat that had made him feel the need to draw his rune-bladed sword had passed and it was with relief that he knew the Horde accepted him. Them.

"You will welcome these former heroes of the Horde and treat them with the respect that you would give to any to any ally of Orgrimmar!" The Warchiefs eyes were on him as if he knew the relief this was for him. Perhaps it had even shown on his face. Tylanduil was uncertain if it had or not seeing as how his own freedom had only been granted short weeks before this. There had not been the time to figure out what, if anything, he could express anymore. "For the Horde!" It was a start he knew. This would take time, they would have to gain the trust of the others and the tensions would only go away with time and diligence. There was much hatred to work through. Thralls acceptance of the Death Knights was only a small part of the whole puzzle, but it was the important one. When the noise finally settled and the tension had faded it was in his court what he would say.

"It is an honor, Warchief." Garnering the attention of the room once more he pressed on without skipping a beat. This was something he wanted to do for himself, to give this a more solid foothold in his new faction. His new life. "I was not among my people when they swore allegiance to the Horde. I would, if able, take that oath." It was asking a bit more of the tentative pact, but he didn't want to leave here feeling as if he was only half committed to this cause. He wanted to solidify himself among them, to feel some sort of connection again. Thrall seemed to watch him for a long moment as if contemplating this news. There was a faint nod and he regarded him a moment before he approached him. In that moment he wondered about what he would be vowing. It wasn't like he had ever worked with the Horde before this, and in fact had worked with the Alliance at one time against them.

"Can you read Orcish as well as you speak it?" Thrall replied with, perhaps a bit of amusement in his tone. For a moment he wasn't sure how to respond and instead gave a slight incline of his head in acknowledgment. The next moment he was holding a rolled bit of parchment in his hands, gaze rising to see Thrall back at his place beside Saurfang. "Take a moment to read it, then do as you wish." It was a choice, Tylanduil realized. Read it and leave, or to take the oath and pledge himself to the Warchief. Whomever the Warchief was now and in the future. It would be, he thought, no different than the oath he had taken to be inducted as a Farstrider. Unrolling the parchment in his hands he read through the words scrawled there quietly, aware of the eyes on him. When his eyes came up again they were filled with a determination unseen to others.

"Lok'Tar Ogar. Victory or death. It is these words that bind me to the Horde. For they are the most sacred and fundamental truths to any warrior of the Horde." Even with all the eyes on him he felt almost at peace. These words would bind him to the Horde for better or for worse and it would give him new purpose in this strange new life he had. Direction, leadership, and a people who had to put up with his presence at the very least. "I give my flesh and blood freely to the Warchief. I am the instrument of my Warchiefs desire. I am a weapon of my Warchiefs command. From this moment until the end of days I live and die...For the Horde." For a moment the words held on silent air until 'For the Horde' was echoed by Thrall. In that moment he knew he had found his purpose again. He would have to thank Lord Mograine when he next saw him. For now it seemed he had a mission to do.

The wind was still, the world stretching out in front of him like a vast canvas. Up here in the mountains a person could feel but a small idea of how truly magnificent their world was. This particular peak was proceeded by rough cut steps, centuries old now, narrowly leading only the most brave of souls to the flat shrine. The air here was thinner but not painfully so, and in the early mornings one could see the fog of their own breath. Such was this case this particular morning, and in the distance there was snow dotting the higher peaks. A serenity to the whole scene made it a favored for those young enough who wished for time to think undisturbed.

Almost as if sensing the tumultuous thoughts of its current occupant the wind kicked up, creating a small dust tornado along the plateau and ruffling the tunic of the single occupant. Standing at the edge of the shrine the young boy was throwing rocks as hard as he could and watching them sail in their downward arc until they no longer registered to him. The short dark hair was ruffled by the wind and small hand brushed it aside in irritation. The boy was green skinned, gray eyes bright with his frustrations, the silvery orbs watery. Small tusks protruded from his lower jaw and stopped just above his lips, bright white against his skin. Another rock was hefted in his hand and tossed like the others.

The next rock went sailing over the edge with more of an upward arc, making him snort a little as it went up and then plummeted down past the ledge. Sharp ears picked up the clattering it made as it connected with the slope of the mountain and tumbled down to the abyss beyond. Looking down at the dwindling pile of various sized rocks he picked up one of the larger and felt the weight of it in his hands. A slight frown tugged at the young features as he thought about this mornings confrontation. New refugees had come to the temple seeking asylum. As a child he hadn't paid them any mind at all and had continued with his studies like the other children.

It had been the sudden silence that had caught his attention. One of the newcomers was asked to repeat what he had said and the young boy had looked up, now curious as to what was going on. The man who was being spoken to seemingly gathered himself up and spoke with no hesitation. "I mean no offense, maha-thera, but how can you allow such a barbaric evil study among you?" The child at first had no idea to whom he was inferring, and looked around to see this so called evil he spoke of. A flush ran through him when he saw eyes on him. Swallowing tightly he looked to Asteron, the fox chimeras warm amber eyes were on him too, as if confused and yet understanding the meaning behind the refugees words.

"There are none among us who are evil." That wise monks gaze sliding back to the man who had spoken, hands still calmly withing the sleeves of his robes, the black furred ears forward and seemingly focused on them. Even with those words the young boy had known who they had been speaking of. Frozen where he sat cross legged in front of the wooden table in front of him he just stared. Ink from the quill perched awkwardly in his clumsy fingers was dripping on his parchment, completely forgotten. They were speaking of him. Evil? When he was pointed at he nearly jumped, going wide-eyed as this stranger sneered in contempt. If he had needed proof to whom they were talking about, this would have been it.

"Then how is it there is an orc in your midst?" All eyes seemed to be on him now and shame flushed through his system. Uncertain he looked around then, feeling a lump in his throat. Unable to hear the raised voice of this newcomer he staggered to his feet and fled before his mind had even caught up to what his body had decided. Sitting there being the center of attention as he was called evil had been to much for the youngster. The blind flight from the main temple had left him winded at the bottom of the crooked ancient steps. Huffing and teary eyed he had looked up the stairs, breath puffing on the early chill. The tips of his ears stung a little and he wished he'd thought to grab his robe for that reason alone.

That had been an hour ago now. There was no desire to go back and see what had come of both the refugees and his own fleeing from his studies. At first he had sat in front of the shrine, sniffling, and clenching his eyes closed as he pleaded with the silent stone for the clarity his mentor always said it could bring. When that had failed he had kicked rocks until the idea of throwing them with all his little might had come to him. Somehow this had been helpful, watching them sail and slowly plummet had soothed him enough to muddle through the man's words.

"Ah...I was sure I would find you here, Tarak." The warm, compassionate words spoken from a heavily accented muzzle. The boy, startled, actually jumped and whirled around to look at the other monk. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't think of anything to say at first. "You left this, I thought you would perhaps be cold." The tall fox chimera had a smile playing about his kind face and he approached him with the same grace he always exuded. Without comment he helped the young half-orc put the robe on, tugging the hood over his ears.

"Why am I evil?" Tears stinging his eyes as he suddenly found his voice, face turned up to look at his mentor and caregiver. It was as if a dam had broken open and he couldn't stop the water leaking from his eyes. "That man said I was evil. H-he called me an Orc? I don't understand." Shaking and unable to stop himself and feeling ashamed of himself again. How could a complete stranger say those things? Was it the truth perhaps? Maybe the outsider knew something that the monks would not tell him? This community was so isolated and there had been nothing but kindness but he was the only one of his kind that he could tell.

A quiet sadness came across the chimeras face and he let out a slow breath. Gently he scooped Tarak into his arms and moved them to the mat in front of the stone monument. He gathered himself up and got them situated, himself cross legged, and put the boy on his lap. "You are not evil, child." Asteron said, arms gathering and comforting Tarak as they sat there. It wasn't hard to just sit there, his head leaned on the chimeras chest and trying to wipe away his tears. It had taken his mentors appearance to understand what it was he was feeling, something easily expressed in the others company. There was a few more beats of quiet before he spoke again.

"I am sorry you had to see the ugly side of the world so young." Asteron said, one hand coming to rub Tarak's back gently, soothing away the sniffling. There was no keeping the outside world away from him forever, most youth made pilgrimages to the world outside their open gates. Perhaps it was better for the youth to hear this now than to figure it out on his own. "The world beyond our village is very different. Age old prejudices still make a deep, dark scar in the shape of our world. I know it is confusing. Here you have been sheltered from the worst of these behaviors."

"What's...prejudice?" Sounding it out slowly and frowning slightly when it didn't come out quite the way his mentor had said it. It wasn't a secret that things were done differently, he'd been reading with Asteron for years after all. Stories of far away lands and the wonder the pages brought to his young mind. This, however, was the first time he'd heard this word used. Is it what had caused the man to call him evil? Sitting here he had finally calmed himself, the tears having stopped as he listened and tried to reason through what his mentor meant. It was always so easy to be in the chimera presence, and he felt as if the monk was more his rock than the stone in front of them.

A low hum left Asteron as he stared out at the snow tipped mountains. "Prejudice is an opinion, or judgement, of others. This can be because of their race, gender, or even whom they wish to spend their life with. It can be political, religious, or even the sort of life one lives. For some these judgements are developed by their parents and community. Negative experiences can also cloud ones reason into believing an entire race acts like this one act. It is very hard to change ones opinion, but persistence, love, and learning of one another are a way to repair these things." With the youngster calmed he had put his arms back to his lap and let them sit in comfort for the moment.

So the man had said those things because he was half-orc? What sort of people were the Orcs to have such a reaction from the stranger? Tarak shifted faintly and moved to sit next to him, always striving to act older than his nine years. Crossing his ankles he sat next to his mentor and wiped the last bit of tears away with the sleeve of his robe. Although it didn't make much sense he understood the explanation. Looking up from his lap he looked at the stone monument again and read the short prayer etched into it surface. Is this the sort of thing he would face when he left this place? It was nerve-wracking to think about, but he also felt compelled to leave at the same time. Maybe he could be the one to help this change.

A peace seemed to slide over him and he settled into his new position, feeling his entire body relax some. Perhaps Asteron was right and this stone really did bring clarity. "Asteron." He started, making a decision there and then. "When I leave for my pilgrimage...I'm gonna try and help people change." It would be hard, if what his mentor said was true. This was a huge undertaking, but he thought that by the time he reached adulthood he would have the knowledge and inner peace necessary to try. Whatever came from his life if he could help just one person overcome this part of themselves he'd be happy.

Asteron smiled, reaching to ruffle the boys hood over his head. "I would be very proud to hear of you spreading a message of inclusion, child. Even the smallest of pebbles cause ripples. I want you to remember that when times are difficult. Your efforts, though seemingly small, do cause a reaction. Someday, perhaps long after we have gone to meet Itos, your efforts may prove to make a better life for the future generations." For a time neither of them spoke again, taking a moment to sit in each others presence and reflect on their individual thoughts.

From below them rose the sounds of bells and Asteron's right ear perked toward the sound before rising from his spot, giving a slight bow to the monument. "Come now, Tarak, its time to eat. Then, perhaps, we can return to your studies?" Reaching a hand out for the youngster and closing his hand around the smaller as Tarak stood. He waited as Tarak gave his respects and then they descended down the winding stairs together. It was a quiet walk down until they reached the base of the stairs, upon which they became immersed in the people of the village. The refugees seemed to have been taken care of and weren't about with the monks. Tarak swore to himself as they approached the main temple again. He would make change when he was of age. It would be his purpose.