With a grunt, he got up from his bed, got ready, picked up his fishing rods and his faithful battle axe. The axe was already heavy for him, but years of habit of not letting go of his weapon prevented him from leaving home without it; it was easier to leave his arm behind. Pausing at the exit, he frowned in annoyance, wanting to leave early to avoid catching the departure of the warriors. On such days, he felt even more worthless. Determinedly pulling back the curtain, he walked out of the hut.
"Strength and Honor!" the passing orcs greeted Krogur.
"Strength and Honor!" he grunted back, glancing gloomily at the square stretching out before him.
The entire square was filled with warriors who, divided into clans, were forming units, their leaders assigning duties. Excited voices, crude jokes, and laughter could be heard from everywhere. Someone was hauling transport, someone else was inspecting weapons, and there was a crowd at the trade stalls and artisan tents. The usual preparations for a military campaign were underway.
Having comfortably adjusted his axe, Krogur turned right and walked towards the eastern gates of Orgrimmar, where his boat was moored on the Stranglethorn River. The troops would be formed and sent off all day, so he decided to go fishing to get away from the commotion, which no longer excited but rather annoyed the old warrior. The leaders didn't take him on campaign, because despite all his experience, he couldn't swing his axe for hours and couldn't endure all the hardships of war and campaign, even with shaman potions. And he would take the place of a more suitable warrior. His rage and frenzy that engulfed him in battle were respected among orcs, and Krogur had a good chance of becoming a leader himself or at least leading a squad. But this same rage and frenzy hindered him; he completely lost his head and saw only the enemy that needed to be cut down. A true leader cannot fully engage in battle and lose sight of what is happening on the field in general; he is responsible for his warriors. But Krogur was quite happy with this state of affairs; not everyone could be a leader, he thought, someone had to be the ax wielder, and he went through all the wars as a simple hack.
"Strength and Honor!" said the orc guarding the gate, raising his spear, and several other guards standing in a small circle apparently discussing the upcoming campaign. Turning to the greeting, they saw Krogur approaching the gate.
"Strength and Honor!" they exclaimed in unison. Legends of Krogur "Mad Axe" still circulated among orcs.
"For the Horde!" Krogur replied in the same tone, no matter how he felt, he couldn't show any signs of despair in front of the youth. "For the Horde!" the warriors shouted even more enthusiastically.
Passing through the gate, he walked across the bridge and descended to the river, which served as a natural moat on this side of the city. Near the bridge was a small dock with fishing boats. Folding his belongings into his boat, he untied it and climbed aboard, drifting downstream towards the southern tip of Durotar. He didn't want to raise the sail or paddle; down in the cove where the river flowed into the sea, he knew a few good fishing spots near the rocks. The water lapped quietly against the sides, the rising sun filled the space with a golden light, and as he drifted away, the noise of the city subsided. Krogur, slightly adjusting the rudder, immersed himself in memories, the musings of an old warrior were not about anything specific.
Earlier, to support his family, he made a living by hunting, but after the death of his sons and the loss of his wife, he lost all interest in hunting. Besides, he wasn't as skilled as he used to be with age, but fishing was another story. His family didn't need much fish, so he only caught a few. In reality, he preferred being alone, those moments when he could daydream, remembering the past, family, friends, everything that was and could never come back to the life of an old warrior. And no one interrupted these thoughts with their cries of "Strength and Honor!"
Krogur frowned and spat into the water running alongside the hull. "What honor is there without strength..." he thought mournfully.
"Strength and Honor!" the shout of no less than thirty Orcish throats made Krogur flinch. They were approaching the bridge over which a detachment was marching from Crossroads to Orgrimmar, with several kodo caravans trailing behind them. They, too, were hurrying to be sent to war with the Burning Legion.
"For the Horde!" Krogur shouted back, raising his axe in a welcoming gesture with his right hand, holding the helm with his left.
Almost dropping the axe on his head and cursing, he spat over the side again. Re-seating himself more comfortably, annoyed, he tossed the axe on the bench, hoping no one noticed his awkward movement. Although, he suddenly remembered himself as a young man going to war, would he care about some old hog in a boat and how he waved his axe, skillfully or clumsily? Krogur smiled sadly at his thoughts.
The river flowed into the sea not far from the port of Ratchet, which was owned by the enterprising goblins of the Steamwheedle Cartel. The cartel goblins who owned the port and the city presented themselves as merchants, although everyone knew they were inveterate smugglers who did not hesitate to engage in piracy when the opportunity arose. Therefore, it was, in general, a quiet place, just right for all kinds of shady deals of rogueish goblins. But today, the pre-marching bustle had arrived, and supply officers of various clans from not only the Horde but also the Alliance were swarming everywhere. Although the port had a universal status, due to its proximity to Orgrimmar, representatives of the Alliance were not frequent visitors here. But now everyone was trying to find various weapons, gear, potions, and supplies for their fighters, better and bigger, and cheaper if possible, and whether it was contraband or not didn't matter anymore, war would write it off. The bay was filled with ships of all kinds, and boats with cargoes were bustling between them; not everyone had enough space at the dock. There was no question of peaceful fishing here.
Krogur raised his sail and, passing by the ships at anchor, headed out to sea. He went south, along the coast. In disputed territories along the shore, there were many cozy places for fishing, and some of them Krogur particularly liked. He headed for one of them. It was a small sandy shoal surrounded by forest on all sides, visible only from the sea. Not far from it, between the rocks, there was a small convenient bay where a boat could be hidden from prying eyes. Although there was currently a ceasefire associated with the joint campaign of the Horde and the Alliance against the Burning Legion, caution wouldn't hurt. There would always be those who dislike the ceasefire, and a lone fisherman on disputed territory was a very convenient target for them. Walking along the shore, he scrutinized everything carefully, trying not to miss the inconspicuous entrance to the bay. Soon he found it, and after lowering the sail, he carefully moved among the rocks with the oars protruding from the water. He knew the way well, so it didn't give him much trouble. Having entered the bay, he beached the boat on a small sandy beach. Climbing out of the boat, he pulled it up higher and tied it to a nearby tree. "Now everything is in order," he thought, "the boat is securely fastened, and due to the surrounding bay's rocks, it's not visible from either the shore or the sea, so I can fish in peace." He still had to walk a bit along the shore to reach the sandy shoal; he could have approached it by boat, but without the cover of the rocks, it would be too conspicuous, whereas a lone fisherman was perfectly inconspicuous against the background of the forest. From here, it was not so far to the fortress of the Northern Watch, the Alliance fortress.
When the low tide appeared from behind the bend of the shore, Krogur was surprised to find that it wasn't deserted. Someone was sitting on a log on the shore with a fishing rod propped up in front of them. Krogur slowed down and started walking as quietly as possible. Behind the fisherman, at a short distance from the tree, was a horse tied up. The horse's small stature and the fisherman's appearance indicated that it was a dwarf who had come here to fish from the North Watch fortress. Krogur was only a few steps away from the log when he accidentally stepped on a hidden empty shell, causing a crunching sound. The dwarf, who had been absentmindedly staring at the sea, instantly jumped up, drawing an ax with a sharp movement. He stood there for a moment, glowering at the orc from under his furrowed brows, without saying anything. Then he put his ax away, sat back on the log, and began to watch his float. Krogur noticed the slightly trembling ax, gray hair with bald patches, cloudy eyes, and deep wrinkles that further roughened the dwarf's already rugged features. He was as ancient as Krogur himself. "Alright," Krogur thought, "there's no need to choose now. Going back to the boat and finding another spot would be too much trouble." He shuffled over to the other side of the log, placing his ax next to him, and began to unwind his fishing line.
"Strength and honor, dwarf," Krogur said to the general vicinity, without looking at the dwarf.
"Yeah...and may you not be sick either, orc," grumbled the dwarf, in a creaky voice, also not looking at the orc.
After dealing with his fishing gear, Krogur spent some time watching his float. Then, his gaze accidentally shifted into the distance and he, like the nearby dwarf, stared absent-mindedly at the horizon, lost in the depths of memories. So the two old veterans, who were completely different but in some ways very similar, sat on the same log in silence for several hours.
"Hey, Orc, why aren't you going to war?" the dwarf broke the silence.
"The leaders decided to give the younger ones a chance to prove themselves on this campaign," Krogur replied after a moment of silence, and then added, "and not just in this one."
"Yeah...I have the same problem," the dwarf nodded in agreement. "No one cares about your motives. I would have fought demons one last time, with potions of course, but I think I could have taken a couple with me and left with honor...The earth seems to be calling me, but it's happening too slowly. I'm tired of falling apart piece by piece... No strength, no honor. You orcs are right when you say 'Strength and Honor!' There is no one without the other for a warrior."
"Yes, that's true," Krogur sighed, surprised to find that the same thoughts had been running through his head all morning.
The oppressive silence hung over the log once again.
"Listen, dwarf," Krogur broke the silence. "I noticed how you pulled out your axe. You must be skilled in deadly strikes, too, right?"
"Indeed, I am," the dwarf replied, not without pride. "Why do you ask?"
"Just curious," Krogur hesitated. "But when you fight against a larger opponent, like me, do you have any favorite moves?"
"Sure, how can you do without them? Fighting against big lugs like you is mostly what I've had to do," the dwarf said, giving the orc a quick glance. Then he suddenly opened up, "I especially like catching the swing when the big lug wants to strike from above. I dive under his arm and jab the sharp end of my axe into his ribs, right into his heart. The key is to get out of the line of attack quickly because the big lug keeps striking, not realizing he's already dead. Sometimes he manages to say something, but it's usually his last words and some kind of curse."
"You know, I loved catching those quick ones," Krogur laughed. "It's like you're swinging with all your might while stepping back with one foot, and if the quick one takes the bait and tries to dive under, you take a full step back and drop your axe right away. Sometimes I even managed to split them in half, back when I was younger."
"I've seen that happen, and it's anyone's game then," the dwarf smirked, looking back at the horizon and lost in thought.
The silence that hung over the log again was now more tense.
"And what if we don't retreat or avoid, but strike for strike?" Krogur unexpectedly blurted out, even surprising himself.
"Um... but wouldn't that be..." the dwarf muttered, but didn't say out loud what he was thinking.
Krogur sat stunned, amazed that he had just suggested such a thing to the dwarf. It was as if he hadn't even thought about it, or rather, just thought it and said it out loud for some reason.
"Although, why exactly..." the dwarf couldn't bring himself to say "suicide." Suddenly, he jumped up and snatched his axe again. "Why are you coming to my fishing spot, you green-faced creature, trampling and making noise, scaring away all the fish? I've killed for less. I challenge you to a duel, orc!"
"You earthworm..." Krogur said, smiling, slowly getting up with his axe, facing the dwarf. "I accept your challenge, dwarf!"
Each circling around a log, the opponents slowly circled each other on the sand.
"Wait!" the dwarf waved his hand. "I'll untie my horse. She'll return to the fortress on her own if something happens."
Krogur stopped and nodded in understanding, thinking about his boat. Oh well, maybe someone will find it, or maybe not. The dwarf untied the horse, threw the reins over the saddle bow, but didn't whip the horse, just in case they had to catch it later. The dwarf returned to the beach and looked Krogur in the eye. Krogur didn't circle again, but stepped towards the dwarf, swinging his axe. The dwarf ducked under his arm and struck, piercing the orc's heart under his ribcage, without leaving the attack line. Krogur, with all his available strength, lowered the axe on the dwarf's neck, not cutting him in half, but the blow was already deadly. The dwarf didn't make a sound, fell on his back with the axe sticking out of his body, looking up at the sky with open eyes. Releasing the axe from his hands and letting the dwarf fall, Krogur remained standing, lowered his gaze to the axe protruding from under the ribs, then to the dwarf. He raised his head, followed the dwarf's gaze and exhaled into the blue sky:
"Strength and Honor!" he said, falling back onto his back.
The horse, which had been nibbling on grass, snorted and apparently sensing that it was alone, trotted through the woods towards the fortress. Silence fell on the beach, occasionally interrupted by small waves lapping against the sand. Several hours later, when the sun had long passed its zenith, a troll emerged from the forest onto the beach, moving soundlessly as if it were simply a shadow separating from the trees. He had a bow sticking out behind him and a short spear in his hand. After surveying the scene and scrutinizing the tracks, he sat down near the bodies lying on the sand and studied them closely. It was difficult to determine what emotions the scene evoked in him from his terrifyingly painted face. A small Alliance watch boat entered the bay, causing a splash. The captain of the fortress guard stood tall on the bow. The troll did not leave the beach, but instead moved a little closer to the forest and adjusted his spear for better comfort, calmly waiting. The boat ran aground on the sand, and a few guards jumped onto the beach and pulled it up higher. The captain jumped off next and approached the bodies lying on the sand, while the guards stayed by the boat.
The captain also began to carefully examine the bodies and tracks on the sand.
"The horse returned without a rider," he said in Orcish without preamble, revealing that he had been serving on Kalimdor for a long time. "Realizing that something had happened, I was sent to search, and you, troll, were blown here by what wind?"
"The spirits whispered to me..." the troll answered in a human-like manner, also indicating that he was not so simple.
"Spirits?! Well, of course," the captain couldn't help a sarcastic smirk. Then he continued in a serious tone, "Well, the picture is clear. You were sitting, fishing, and then something happened... maybe you didn't share something or maybe you remembered something. Then the dwarf jumped up, apparently challenging the orc to a duel, the orc stood up and presumably accepted the challenge. They walked around a log and ended up here..." He stopped at the dwarf's footprints as he walked to untie the horse. Not focusing on them, he continued, "In short, they fought, managed to land one blow each, which both turned out to be fatal."
"The spirits whisper to me that it could have been different," the troll replied.
"Perhaps it could have been different, but maybe your spirits will keep their versions to themselves. A fair fight, a worthy death, and the truce is not broken. Everyone is satisfied, what do you think?" the captain said.
"Let it be so!" the troll easily agreed, squinting his eyes, which were not clear due to his protruding fangs and the pattern on his face, making it unclear whether he was smiling or sneering.
The troll looked towards the forest and barely nodded, and silently, like himself before, a dozen trolls emerged from there, carrying stretcher-like structures woven from vines. The captain waved to the guards, and he himself approached the dwarf and pulled the orc's axe from a huge wound that almost split the dwarf in half. He laid the axe on the sand and took the dwarf's own axe, which by that time had already been laid there by one of the trolls. The guards laid the dwarf on the brought stretchers and carried them to the barge. The captain, without turning around, followed them. He climbed onto the bow of the barge and watched as the guards loaded and arranged the stretchers with the dwarf. The trolls also finished arranging the orc, placed his axe on top of him, and tied him up for safety. Then, as silently as they had appeared, they disappeared with the stretchers into the forest. The troll sat for a while longer, then without turning or taking his eyes off the captain, he stepped back into the shadows of the trees. Standing in the darkness, watching the captain, he involuntarily reached for his bow, but when he began to draw an arrow, he looked towards the group of trolls leaving with stretchers. The orc's body needed to be taken to Orgrimmar, he thought, so whoever violated the truce would become obvious. He glanced at the tree standing a couple of steps away from him, where something seemed to catch his eye.
"Alright, human, you got lucky today," he whispered almost inaudibly and silently moved behind the departing trolls.
After a while, the branch of the tree the troll looked at rustled, and a barely noticeable chain of tracks stretched from the forest towards the barge on the sand.
"The troll says you got lucky today, Captain," said the night elf scout, dropping the cloak of invisibility and climbing aboard the barge.
"I wasn't counting on luck, but on you, and on them," the captain nodded towards the two self-satisfied gnomes sitting below deck, one was a priest, the other a mage. Judging by the shimmering aura around them, both had prepared spells, something protective and healing for the priest, and something long-range and destructive for the mage. Behind them, also crouched below deck, sat a dozen guards.
"That's good, but how they slipped away and another ten trolls followed them from the other side of the bay is still a mystery."
"So, in case of something, it's still unknown who'll be lucky..." the captain grinned.
The elf just nodded in response.
"Well, never mind, I don't think the truce will last long, and we'll find out who'll have luck on their side."
The captain looked around and nodded to the guards on the shore, who quickly pushed the barge into the water and jumped on board themselves. Soon, the bay was empty, except for two fishing rods standing forlornly on the support beams by the log.
