Growing Up Fast

The withered forest on the edge of the Twilight Hammer clan's camp was but a shadow of its former self, the recent crippling disease that gripped the land of Draenor having assaulted it mercilessly. Barren wastes of red sand and rock surrounded it on all sides. It was of little importance in the grand scheme of things, but to the clan's young it was a now rare site of mystery and adventure. Any manner of things could be hiding in the shadows under the trees, enemies and treasures. All of them had been there at one time or another, short and long excursions, and found nothing. Still, the lure remained, and it had become somewhat of an unofficial rite of passage among the gruntlings to enter the forest and emerge with some sort of token to prove how far in you went. If the adults knew of this practice, they did nothing to interfere with it. But with each passing month, week and even day, the forest shrunk. The hiding places for its denizens were rapidly diminishing.

An orc gruntling, large for his age but still very much a child, gave his friends a sharp nod before walking into the forest with his head held high. The wind slowed as he came under the protection of the sad branches of the outer forest. They moved warily, creaking and raining down dead bark. Ghelgor grinned to himself, swinging his wooden practice sword around, pretending he was Grom in the arena. With a childish roar, he assaulted the tired trunk of a withered tree, defeating his mighty imaginary foe with a few well placed slashes. Pleased with his work, he casually kicked the tree and moved further in the forest. He needed to find something to show his friends, to prove to them that he'd been as far in as the rest of them, or maybe even farther. Something from the healthy trees in the core of the woods maybe? The healthier, the better proof it would make. He'd show them all what he was capable of.

Gradually, the forest got darker and denser, the gruntling's once confident strides became timid steps. He held his sword close in a defensive stance as he moved, watching the shadows around him with a growing sense of dread. He reprimanded himself for being afraid, it was not a warrior's way. There was nothing in this forest that he couldn't defeat! A rustling of leaves caught his attention and he stopped in his tracks, standing as still as a tree while peering into the darkness from where the sound had come. Maybe some animal? That would make great proof, and it would mean extra dinner! The rustling was heard again and Ghelgor wasted no time, charging towards the sound with his sword raised high. As he came close, something small darted out of a bush and into the darkness, with Ghelgor in pursuit. Ghelgor considered himself a fast runner, even if his younger brother usually beat him at races, but he was barely able to keep up with the animal. It seemed at home in the forest, knowing all the short-cuts and avoiding all the obstacles, it was difficult for Ghelgor to match its speed.

After a frantic chase, they reached a small clearing with a few rays of sunlight hitting the forest floor, giving Ghelgor a good look at his quarry. It was a young Draenei boy. Father had told him that they had angered the spirits, and that their extinction was demanded. He couldn't believe his luck; not only would the creature be a perfect proof for his friends, but a trophy to bring home to his family as well. His father was sure to favour him after such a show of force. The Draenei had stopped in the middle of the clearing, watching Ghelgor with fear-filled eyes. The gruntling approached the much smaller boy, raising his sword to strike. The closer he got to the boy, the more the pathetic little thing curled up on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. He had never seen anything like it, the scene baffled him. When he reached the boy, Ghelgor found himself frustrated and confused, kicking the boy, screaming at him to get up and fight. The boy refused to move, taking the kicks with whimpers and squeals. This was nothing like the battles against his friends. Utterly confused and with a sudden urge to be back home, Ghelgor backed away from the boy, stumbling back into the shadows. He ran without knowing where, the chase had left him disoriented and he no longer knew the way out.

Noises behind him. He was being chased now. Tripping over a concealed root, he fell into a stream. Before he could get back up, he was grabbed from behind by two pair of hands, throwing him against the trunk of a nearby tree. The blow to the back of his head muddled his vision, but he could make out two blue-skinned shapes in front of him. Slightly smaller than him, but much larger than the boy. Unable to dodge, in his dazed state, a fist hit him right in the face. Pain was familiar to him, despite his age. The games of gruntlings were not for the weak or frail. He slid down the trunk, settling into a seated position on the ground. The two Draenei talked with each-other, clearly arguing based on their tone. But more than that was difficult for Ghelgor to make out, their language was not known to him. Finally, one of them lifted him up and proceeded to knee him in the gut, followed by a series of kicks. He struggled, trying to shield himself from the kicks and punching at his attacker. The other Draenei watched, cheering his friend on. Ghelgor grimaced in pain, blood dripping from his mouth, as his attacker threw him to the ground. The other Draenei moved up to take his turn, reaching down towards Ghelgor. In desperation, he lunged at the Draenei's arm, biting down hard on it, his small fangs piercing the blue flesh easily. Screaming, the Draenei jumped backwards, colliding with his friend and sending them both to the ground. Ghelgor stumbled towards the stream, snatching his wooden sword from the water. It all felt like a dream, like it wasn't actually happening. Turning towards his attackers, he could see one of them getting back up. Using all his strength and uttering a primal roar, he swung his sword at the Draenei's head. A loud cracking sound, and the limp body crumbled into a pile on the ground.

No longer thinking, only acting, Ghelgor reached the other Draenei in a few strides, towering over him as he lay on the ground trying to get his friend's corpse off of him. The gruntling raised his sword, tip down, before ramming it repeatedly into the enemy's face. The blunt wooden tip made an utter mess, breaking the jaw into several pieces, popping an eye out and turning the rest into a bloody pulp. Ghelgor finally stopped and took a few steps back, breathing heavily and spitting blood. Surveying his work, he started shaking as it became clear that it was not a dream. The popped eye lay on the ground next to its owner, staring at him. Accusing and questioning him. Screaming, he stomped on it. The other Draenei's eyes also stared at him, never blinking. He didn't understand, he just wanted them to stop staring. He took his sword and swung it again and again at the blue face, blood and brain-matter spraying up at him. Tears streamed down his gore-encrusted face, creating patterns, as he furiously turned the head into goo. The snapping of a twig alerted him to a spectator. Standing frozen in fear, the small Draenei boy stared at the morbid display; the ground was the colour of blood, as was the previously brown orc. He made no attempts to run, even when Ghelgor approached him rapidly and snapped his neck. Ghelgor stood over the small boy's corpse, sobbing, for several minutes before finally grabbing one of its legs and dragging it with him.

Several days later, a search party found the gruntling dehydrated and barely alive on the outskirts of the forest, his hand clutched firmly around the leg of his trophy. His father would be proud.