Chaindog, November 22, 2006
A dusty breeze blows through Orgrimmar and with it; a
conversation is heard in the Warchief’s chamber.
A heavyset voice of an advisor says, “You think this is wise?
Talking to them? You know what they’re like. They are a volatile
lot at the best of times.”
An obviously older voice of the Warchief speaks, “She is one
theirs and it is their responsibility to control her. She has
crossed the line. I will no longer tolerate her behaviour. I have
consulted the hunters and there is much debate amongst them.”
“Debate?” says the advisor with shock in voice. “They were
fighting! The orcs and the trolls nearly started killing each
other before the taurens stepped in and broke it up. What’s worse
is that she’s intelligent, educated, and now she’s thrown all
civility to the wind! She’s killing everyone, friend or foe! You
should just kill her!”
“No, I will not set such an order. The Grim have done much for
the Horde. I will not insult them by ordering the death of one
their own. It would be dishonourable.”
The advisor rubs his forehead in frustration. “How can you
tolerate them? They step the line of your orders with little
care. And now one of them has gone too far. She murdered one of
our emissaries. You don’t want to know what she did to her.”
“I know it was a mistake to send our emissary that way. How were
we to know there would be a Grim there? No, my decision is final.
You will be that messenger to The Grim. Have them deal with it.”
says the Warchief in a forlorn voice.
“Very well, will you set a deadline then?”
“No, I trust The Grim. They will take care of their own. I am
sure of it.”
“As you command.” says the advisor and he bows, turns, and
leaves. He walks out of the chamber and reaches into his robes
and pulls a flask out. His nervousness starts to show. He takes a
swig from the flask and sets his pace. He heads to the guild hall
of The Grim.
He arrives and stops just before the door. He steals himself,
though just barely and enters the guildhall.
He walks in and says, “I come baring a command from the
Skash was sitting in the common room, enjoying his typical 5
course meal (three of them being pies). When the herald announced
himself, Skash quickly lept over the table towards the door,
making a huge racket as he did.
"Thrall need sumtin frum Grim? Wut can Grim do for Thrall?"
"Apparently, one of your... comrades has earned themselves the
attention of the Warchief. He is displeased with her. She has
murdered several of the horde."
"Oh... uh oh... dis sound big... Skash git a boss."
Skash then turned around and bellowed "HEY IRREDUMABLE!!!
LAAAAAASC!!! Any a yous here??? Dere sumone here ta talk wit one
Tales of Old.