[Drogu] From Death to Service

[This is a couple of stories about my Orc. The First one is just a little back story I wrote a while back, takes place during the early days of WoW.]

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The snow that fell formed a thick fog around the band of orcs that camped within it. They had been here, in the barren wastelands of Northrend for weeks now. Nine Dragonmaw clans members set off with Drogu, now only four (not including himself) remained. They had done much to escape their clan and travel so far, but Drogu was beginning to have doubts. They all were. He had convinced them that they were going to become free and have scores of game to hunt, bears to fight and honourable deaths to look forward to. Drogu was wrong. He had led them to an ice filled desert of only death and suffering. In the journey to the land, two of his nine had died when their boat capsised. One had been mauled by some plague ridden bear whilst he slept. The other two had wondered off in a furious rage, but they could not long last against the horrors of the Northern lands.
"Bleurgh! If I have to eat any more of this.." Brulk spat on the ground beside the rock he sat on "Boars shit-"
"You will eat it, if you value your life. We push on tomorrow and we can not have you slowing us down." the older Orc, Morok said calmly, his once white tuft of a beard now layered in a snowy armour prickled as he spoke to the young, rash orc.
"Meat is all I ask, old timer. Meat to dig my teeth into. I would have plenty of it if that fool did not drag us Nor-"
"Keep going and I'll have your meat on my plate tonight, Brulk!" Tork, the largest of the group, roared.

Drogu stared out into the fog, ignoring any talk and fude the group were having. Something was different about this night. Drogu wore no armour from waist up; preferring to dress like that of a Blademaster. He was not one, but he respected their ways and believed it gave him strength. He did not fear the cold, nor did it penetrate his thick skin. Not until this night. A chill was in the air, his every breath felt as if the very air around him was trying to choke him, but he did not falter. He merely stared out.
"What would you know of the pink skins, Tork? You can barely understand your own people." Brulk sneered, a grin creeping across his face.
"You keep pushing me, Brulk, I wi-"
"Where is Grunok?" Drogu said in a hushed tone. The others went silent, surprised to see their 'leader' speak after hours of silence. "Answer me."
"He said this filth did not go down well. He had to empty his bowels." Brulk roared with laughter as he spoke, but he came to a sudden stop when the sound of a pained scream filled the air like a banshee, "ARGHHHHHHHHHHH!

Drogu grabbed hold of his large blade and simply rose to his feet. He had been anticipating an attack tonight. The air, the chill; it was the calm before the storm. He knew. How could he have been so blind as to lead his people here? To the haunted wastelands where they would die in agony, not glory. Drogu spoke "Lok-Narash, form a line, keep your eyes to the fog. I don't care if an army of dragons comes soaring at us, we will stand our ground and kill what ever comes at us. Hold the line, my broth-"
"Lok-Tar Ogar, I will be the first to wet my blade!" Grulk roared aloud, his legs pushing him onward, into the fog.
"Grulk! I gave an order, damn you!" Drogu was never meant to lead. He had no experience in it.
"RAAAAARGH! The sound of clashing steel filled the air. Their fire was dying, the cold thickened and they were becoming blind to the snow that blanketed them. Clattering of teeth. A stench so foul, Drogu could taste it at the back of his throat.
All around them, as if moving as one, undead humanoids with rusty armour stepped from the fog merely a few yards from where they stood. Drogu turned to press his back on his companions, forming a defensive triangle.
"Lok-Tar! Strike first and true, my brothers!" Drogu roared, pushing himself forward into the fearless figures of the cold.

His skill with a blade outmatched all of the undead that came at him. He relentlessly cut through the hordes that came at him, but they did not stop coming. Where he blocked one, another sliced - cutting him. He was getting weaker by the second and he could feel his blood trickling down several wounds around his body. Backing up, his feet collided with a solid object behind him and he almost lost his footing. His eyes peered down for a moment to see the motionless corpse of Tork, one who had killed an ogre bare handed. How could I have been so reckless?. "Get your hands off of me, wretched dead!" Morok's voice faded with every passing syllable. Drogu turned his head, but his old friend was gone. He was alone with the dead now. They came at him from all sides. He kept swinging his blade, but still a cut here and a slice there, he was tiring. He felt a cold shooting pain through his back and out of his chest. Looking down, Drogu bore sight of a poorly forged blade, that had long rusted in the cold. Pushing himself off of it, he swung his blade around, taking the head off of the undead that dare mortally wound him. He fought on for what felt like hours, but in truth was seconds, before dropping to his knees - his blade beside him. "Lok..Lok-Tar" He tried to shout it, but the words came out as a wheeze. The undead were not coming though. They had stopped around him. "What.. what are you waiting for? Come.. claim your pri..Prize!" Horses footsteps. Clumph .. Clumph.. they were getting closer.. Clumph
"This one could prove useful to our masters cause. Bring him." The voice was like none other he had heard before. The common tongue of a human, but deeper. Colder. Drogu raised his eyes to catch a glimpse of the one who spoke. He could barely see past the blood that trickled over his vision, but he could make out the black plated armour that the rider wore and he knew that he could expect no mercy, honour or death from this .. creature. Only suffering. Then, at last, Drogu closed his eyes. The next time he opened them, he would see only pain and anguish. He would only hear.. his Kings voice.

[This one is a bit longer than the last! When I wrote it I only had "What happened to Drogu when he first woke?" in mind, so I improvised and didn't realise I went on for so long.]

"Do not worry, my love. The Chieftain will listen to your words one day and thank you for them."
Drogu planted a kiss upon the forehead of his life mate, Kurega. For a moment, he remained silent, basking in the delight of that moment. This was his happiest memory, taking place only a few days after their marriage ceremony. The choices he made that day could have altered the life he lived. He could have grown up and continued to train, perhaps one day becoming Chieftain of his Dragonmaw kin.

His eyes shot open. He tried to raise his hand to his face, but it remained still and cold by his side. His eyes scanned the room around him. A greyish-blue room, dimly lit by torches. A balcony perched on one of the walls. Instruments lie to either side of him, each covered in blood. My blood... What treachery is this? What sorcery?
"Sorcery?" A cackle filled the room, echoing off the high ceiling. He recognised the voice as if it was from a dream. Whilst the shrouded figure laughed, Drogu tried to remember the origin of this voice, but one sensation blinded his every thought: the cold.

"Come now, surely you have not forgotten who I am." The man stepped from the darkened corner, but was unlike anything Drogu had ever seen. A bald, human head, with a pale skin tone. He wore black robes with plated shoulde- the memory shot through Drogu suddenly and every bone in his body cracked as he shot to his feet. His hands gripped for the longest crude instrument to his side, a saw like object with edges that could cut through a wild boar. His body felt new, stronger even. He even managed to roar as he ran at his enemy. He raised the blade above his head, the pale man didn't even flinch, and with all the strength in his body... strength that had now vanished. He stood, motionless. A grey mighty statue, with his blade raised over him.
"Pity our king did not want your memories taken from you. Not yet, anyway." His smile faded from his lips "I control you, beast. I am the puppeteer and it is best you learnt that now before he arrives." The pale man flicked his fingers and Drogu dropped to his knees, the blade falling to his side. The pale man, once again, smiled. "You are one of the lucky ones. One of those picked to be in an early batch of Death Knights. Prototypes of our future army. You will be a thoughtless servant. We will take everything from you, every single detail from that pathetic body of yo-"
"You will not have me." Drogu managed to wheeze out the words, his understanding of his language flushing through him like a split dam. His hatred of his opposer fueling every word, "I am Orc, puny human. Your magic may hold me, but you can not control one of the Dragonmaw. You are no demon, you have no hold over Orc-kind."

The pale man began laughing and finally nodded his head. "As I said, you are lucky. You shall soon find out we're much stronger than the demons. We will prove that in time. However, your lack of servitude is dissapointing. Let us see how you fair with your first test" The pale man raised his voice "Bring in the prisoner."

Ghoulish creatures scattered in through one of the side doors, followed by skeletal figures cladded in dull iron armour. The sound of shackles clanking echoed around the room and a beaten, naked Orc with a prickled small beard stood broadly beside his captors. Even past the bruising, Drogu recognised Morok Rockheart. Old friend, what have they done to you? The servants of the pale man began circling around the two Orcs, forming a ring. Brittle blades were dropped in front of both the orcs and the binds of Morok were unlocked. "Now, fight. The winner will be granted eternal life in the service of our king."

Morok started to laugh, which set Drogu off as well. The dire situation now seemed coated with hilarity with the very thought of fighting the closest of his kin. "Controlling us and making us kill each other will not give you a warrior, nor even a fine display." Morok announced, a smile spread across his swollen lip.
"Morok Rockheart, one of your Chieftains most loyal and trusted allies. When you were younger, many orc females longed to bare your child. It is a great honour to have that bond with someone as esteemed as you. You did find your life mate. You also had that child. The one you thought you lost when your ship capsized on the shores of Northrend." Morok still, mouth tightened and his heavy, rage filled breathing could be heard around the entire room. One bone-man stepped forward on the balcony, holding a an orc boy in front of him, a knife pressed to his throat.
"DROGOR!" roared his father, the son was named after Drogu.
"Kill Drogu and we shall let your son live, but you shall stay and serve." the pale man smiled, content that he had done enough.

He was right. Morok was on Drogu without a moments hesitation, the love for his son doubling his strength. Drogu barely had a chance to raise his blade to deflect the blow and received a nasty gash across his bicep. The second attack did not come so powerful and Drogu shielded himself in time. Morok continously struck at his former leader and Drogu was not quick enough to block every strike. Finally, Morok disarmed Drogu and pointed his blade at the throat of his clan brother. Drogu accepted defeat and remained still, awaiting his second death. "Pathetic. You strike with love, not anger." the pale man raised his hand and then brought it down swiftly, the skeletal man then cut the throat of the boy and let him drop over the balcony edge.
Morok stumbled back, his blade pointed to the floor and he trembled for a moment. "My son... No.. Why? He was just a boy... What cruelty would drive you to.." Morok shook his head, confused and frightened.
"Morok, pick up your blade. Let us fight to our deaths against thes-"
"You. You were the one who brought us here, Drogu." Morok stopped shaking, anger flourished in his eyes "If not for you, my boy would not have died. If not for you, Drogor would still be alive!" Morok ran at Drogu, giving him no chance to speak sense into his friend.

His motions were sloppier and more ferocious than before, Drogu was able to side step every attack. If any of the blows landed, however, Drogu would surely fall. Morok lifted his blade to one side and spun, but Drogu pressed his attack for the first time and after a moment of silence, Drogu realised that his blade was lodged into the stomach of his kin. They stood, face to face, both shocked by the turn of events. "I'm sorry... Brother." Morok wheezed, falling lifeless onto his back. The creatures around him all cheered and the pale man stood clapping his hands, but Drogu now had his eyes pinned on the balcony once more. Replacing the skeletal man was now a taller, broader and fully armoured knight. His eyes glowed a frosty blue and they stared down at Drogu. His voice filled the gaps of Drogu's mind. //"You have done well. You are no Death Knight yet, but continue down the path. Grow strong and I shall give you what your frozen heart desires."\\ Drogu's face turned as if being forced, to face the pale man //"I will give you revenge."\\