Trial of Sacrifice: Oralech Cinderfell

[Oralech Cinderfall]

A long sigh escaped Oralech's lungs as he went through the drills that had been engrained into him throughout his childhood. After all these years, the motions had become laughably easy for him, yet they also kept him grounded in his past. He was a son of Quel'thalas before all else, and had trained hard in hopes of becoming a Farstrider just like his mother had once been.

Thrust, backstep, parry, slash.

Not that he would ever become recognized as one. Try as he might, his lack of talent with the bow always made him unworthy of joining the order. Instead, he was forced to set his sights lower, knowing that he would never reach the glorious heights his mother had once attained. His family never begrudged this fact, realizing that the Farstriders were elite among the elite, but the brutish warrior always felt a form of pity coming from them. In a way, that was almost worse.

Flurry, lunge, evade, parry.

No matter how hard he tried, no matter how he coveted his mother's sword, he would always be a warrior of ungraceful means who crashed upon enemy lines with brute strength. Even the variety of weapons that he had mastered indicated as much- since most relied on their overwhelming weight rather than their ability to slip through the enemy's guard. It suited him as an armsmaster for the Horde, which primarily relied on such tactics, but made him into something of an oddity among his people.

A loud thud sounded through the training hall as Oralech's blade sank deep into the dummy he had been sparring against, leaving a considerable indent where the blade had cut true- soon to be accompanied by a sigh of disappointment. He couldn't hold onto his past any longer, nor could he fool himself into thinking that he could be something he was not.

He had a chance to be something greater here. The Grim offered him an opportunity to put his talents to good use, and all he had to do was abandon who he once was to serve their purpose. It should be an easy job, yet all of his old aspirations kept rushing to him as he started the process of melting his mother's blade.

No more delaying. Oralech thought to himself, sheathing the greatsword for a final time. I can't hold myself back as I hope to become something that I'm not. So many have taken their tabard while I sit around here- I'm sick of this, I'm going to do better.

___________________________________

The next morning, a package found itself situated in front of the door to Qabian's office. Within the unremarkable paper, the mage would be able to find a placard made of elven steel, bearing a carefully engraved symbol of the Horde. However, the dot in the middle of the sigil was replaced by an easily recognizable piece- the brilliant ruby that had previously found itself in the pommel of Oralech's former blade.

The package was also found with a small letter attached to it- making it appear much like the Winter Veil presents that were often passed around at this time of the year. Within it, a short note was enclosed.

I'm ready to move forward, whether that is in service of the Horde, the Grim or you yourself. This blade isn't needed for its people anymore, so I'll find something more suited for my new purpose. For the Horde.

[Qabian]

Qabian stared down at the ruby in its placard on top of his desk next to the opened letter. Initially, the mage had higher hopes for Oralech, but despite their paths running parallel at a time of such great importance that had given them similar outlooks and motivations, they were two very different people. Qabian would have to be satisfied with a stalwart fellow Grim of questionable tastes.

He returned the placard to its sender with a new note.

While I appreciate the thought and am glad to see your Trials to their end, I believe this will serve better as a reminder for you than a decoration for me.

For the Horde, indeed.
~Q