Alexsus and Stockyfuzz waited tensely within the walls of the Blade's Edge arena. The dull roar of the crowd could be heard echoing through the vast battleground.
"So..." Alex murmured, his eyes glowing beneath his helm, "what do you think it'll be now?
"Who knows? I'll be happy just making stuff bleed!" Stocky squeaked excitedly.
Alex looked at his friend for a long moment before shrugging and turning to face the door. To be completely honest....he wanted to make stuff bleed too. It's why he got into this line of work in the first place.
Moments later, the doors to the arena flew open to the tumultuous cries of the crowd, and Alex dashed out, taking cover behind a pillar and sinking into its shadows. A brief moment later, he saw movement nearby; two orcs, veteran fighters by the looks of them. Alex went stiff then; he recognized the markings on one of the warriors...this was no mere veteran. This was a High Warlord. Alexsus, the Destroyer of Worlds, feared nothing....but anyone had reason for pause when facing a High Warlord. The orcs two bloodstained cleavers shone in the light, and he carried them with an assurance born of use. A moment later, and Alex caught a glimpse of their second opponent, and received his second ill-tiding of the day.
Alexsus wasn't just a warrior. While he enjoyed the dance of combat, the feel of cleaving the flesh of his enemies, and ebb and flow of battle, he had to eat. And it just so happened that he made as good a smith as he did a warrior. He knew craftsmanship, and his work was wanted even by some Horde customers, and he gladly worked his art for anyone willing to pay the price. He not only knew quality, but he could tell within moments of looking at a piece of armor what its origins were, down to the region. When he looked at this other orc, his mind drew a blank. The shoulders seemed to gleam with a kind of chitinous sheen, like that of an insect. It reminded him almost of the Silithid. Anyone wearing armor crafted from materials gathered in the depths of Ahn'Qiraj was not someone to be trifled with. This orc had an axe and a sword, unlike the High Warlord...the axe he recognized; he had seen it briefly in the possession of the false Warchief, Dal'Rend Blackhand. He had seen Rend entrust it to Nefarion, Lord of Blackrock. A dangerous orc, to have wrested such a weapon from the son of Deathwing.
The sword struck him as odd however; clearly this was a dangerous orc if he wielded an axe once in possession of Nefarion....but this sword....it seemed to drink in the light around it. It exuded an aura of malaise, and hate. A fallen sword, taken from a fallen angel. But a dangerous sword nonetheless.
Slowly unsheathing Zin'rokh, Alex whistled twice, sounding like a common blackbird found amongst the forests of Elwynn. He glanced back at Stocky, and could see a grin splitting his small face ear-to-ear.
"COME AND GET ME YOU SMELLY ORCS! THAT'S RIGHT, I'M ALLLLL ALONE!" Stocky bellowed. Well...he bellowed it about as much as a gnome could bellow anything, which meant he sounded like a big kazoo....which made Alex chuckle a bit.
Roaring with rage, the two orcs, having heard the same thing Alex did (and finding it decidedly less funny, despite not understanding it....gnome voices grat like broken glass on Horde ears), charged headlong at Stocky, with the High Warlord nearly brushing Alex in his haste.
It was then that Alex pounced.
Charging from the shadows, he dropped into a defensive stance, holding Zin'rokh low and in front of him to better deflect blows. A quick slash across the High Warlords side opened a long, shallow rend, and Alex's specialty with a sword enabled him to turn that into a second blow. Not a breath later, Alex wrapped his sword around the main hand of the High Warlord and deftly caught his cleaver, tossing it some distance from the warrior. Weaponless in one hand, the High Warlord tried to find a way around Alex, but Stocky quickly dove between his legs and deftly sliced his achilles tendons, slowing the High Warlord to a hobble.
Meanwhile, the Conqueror had joined the fray, and he charged right into Alex, briefly stunning him. Years of training had toughened his ability to survive such disorienting attacks, and Alex swung Zin'rokh high over his head before slamming it into the ground with a thunderous boom.
Reeling from the concussion of the blow, both the High Warlord and the Conqueror were momentarily dazed. Stockyfuzz took advantage of this by swinging a mighty (for a gnome) blow into the Conqueror that cut deeply, drawing a thick stream of blood that pulsed from underneath the orcs armor in time with his heartbeat. Alex could smell the blood, and he knew Stocky could too. This smell...the slightly metallic tinge, the warmth, the almost pungent aroma intermixed with sweat...this is what Alex lived for, fought for, and died for. Alex lost himself as he swung Zin'rokh over and over, tearing deeper and deeper into the Conqueror.
"ALEX! MOVE!" Stocky shouted. Alex had no idea how much time had passed, but he was in considerably more pain than before, and both orcs were still up. The High Warlord had at some point in time recovered his cleaver and was moving to intercept Alex, while the Conqueror and he constantly jockeyed for position. But it was a losing battle...Alex was weakening, and the Conqueror, despite his many wounds, was in better condition than he was. Not to mention the relatively untouched High Warlord. Taking a deep breath, Alex stealed himself against the incoming impact of the High Warlord, who was bearing down on him with reckless abandon. The High Warlord tackled Alex, stunning him momentarily, but this awakened Alex's fighting spirit anew, and he felt rejuvenated....he certainly wasn't going to let Stocky face these two alone; one of these orcs was coming down with him.
"MAK'RAGA NO'NASH!!!"* the High Warlord roared. Both Alex and the Conqueror stopped for a moment to look back at the High Warlord....and Alex's jaw nearly dropped when he did. There the High Warlord sat, tangled in a net of sturdy Gnomish construction. And there, not five yards from him, was Stockyfuzz, deftly wriggling out of the net that his Netgun had apparently put them both in. Grinning as only a gnome could under such circumstances, Stocky roared (well, squeaked) a Gnomish challenge and barreled headlong into the Conqueror.
*translation - "F*cking gnomes!"
It was now two versus one, and the Conqueror soon found himself conquered. He was a smart one, trying to maneuver the fight over to the High Warlord, perhaps to help cut him out, but Alex and Stocky proved too much for him. Deftly maneuvering in and around each other, the two were more than a match for the one, and it wasn't long before the Conqueror fell to the ground unconscious, bleeding profusely.
Seeing his comrade fall, the High Warlord summoned great strength and broke from the bonds that held him in his mad charge towards his enemies. His eyes blazed with a red fury, and his stance told Alex that he had committed himself entirely to death, and that he didn't intend to go alone. Charging Alex, he spun wildy, cutting deeply into both his adversaries, but Stocky caught one of his cleavers on his claymore, and using his own body for leverage, twisted it clear out of his hand. Disarmed yet again, the High Warlord, now completely lost in the throes of his berserk rampage, ignored his lost weapon and began flailing madly at Alexsus. Deft movements of Zin'rokh and fine control of his own elven body evaded most of the attacks, but many still found purchase, and Alex was slowly backed into a corner. But in his mad rage to kill Alex, the High Warlord had ignored the gnome, and Stocky took great advantage of this by sinking his claymore deep into the orc again and again.
Alex's back hit a wall. They had crossed to the other side of the arena, and the air was deathly still. Even the roar of the crowd had subsided, with onlookers barely able to breath after witnessing such a pure, brutal spectacle. Taking one last step, the fire left the High Warlords eyes, and he raised his hand once more, resting it on Alex's chest.
"Mok'a...osh'og....tom'ak...."* the orc mumbled, looking at Stocky.
Alex took the orcs hand from his chest, and slung his arm over his shoulder, supporting the High Warlords weight as they hobbled towards the infirmary. A pair of priests made their way out past Alex and the High Warlord, moving to tend to Stocky and the Conqueror. Stocky absentmindedly brushed them off, pointing towards the unconscious orc and gesturing wildly at the priests.
"Yeah," Alex sighed, "he's a crazy one."
*translation - Your....friend....crazy....
Edited, Dec 19th 2006 4:15am by Quor