Blood Wolf

An old orcish folk tale.

"In the days of our ancestors there roamed a large wolf pack. Our people honoured them and were in turn honoured by them.
This pack were led by their alpha-male. A hulking and strong wolf, never defeated and named the Sun-Wolf by our ancestors for his golden eyes. The Sun-Wolf led his pack in our people's aid more than once and was known as a friend of the orcs.

One day, the son of the Bladewind Chieftain went missing. The Chieftain's son was a mere child, not old enough to survive the wilds alone. He wandered the wilds, too stubborn to cry but with the fear gnawing his guts.

'I am an orc of the Bladewind clan. I am the Chieftain's son. I will not weep and nor will I despair.' the child thought to himself.
'No beast of the wild will frighten me. No blue-skinned horned-one will threaten me.'

There were worse things in Draenor, even then. The foul bird-men watched the lost child from their treetops, chittering and chattering in their hideous tongue.
'A feast!' they croaked.
'A prize!' they hissed.
The bird-men descended from their treehouses, stalking the child. The child in his ignorance did not know.

The Sun-Wolf knew. He stalked the stalkers, silent and graceful.

The child tripped and fell, clutching a broken ankle. 'I will not despair!' he cried in his shrill child's voice.

'Despair child for you shall be our feast!' cried the bird-men, emerging from the shadows. Their long blades glinted in the moonlight and the orcish child felt fear.

The Sun-Wolf saved him. The Sun-Wolf leapt from the shadows at the bird-men. One throat was ripped out in a split second, another the second after.
The child watched in awe as the Sun-Wolf slew the bird-men, one after another.

Even a beast as mighty as the Sun-Wolf could not win this skirmish unscathed. Once the bird-men were all slain the Sun-Wolf stood proud, blood leaking from a leg wound.
Unperturbed he carried the child home, to his father and the Bladewind rejoiced.

Good deeds often lead to bad things. A sad fact that we are all aware of.
The Sun-Wolf's wound weakened him and as is the way of the wolf, a younger male challenged him. Weakened by his wound the Sun-Wolf could not hope to win. Even knowing this he would not back down, even knowing this he fought his hardest!
The challenger, who posterity knows as the Young-Wolf, overcame him, ripping half the flesh from his face.

Young-Wolf made a mistake though. He let Sun-Wolf live, mocking his defeat. Young-Wolf led the pack away, laughing.

Sun-Wolf regained consciousness. From now on he would no longer be Sun-Wolf, but the Blood Wolf.

Blood Wolf travelled alone into the wastelands and gathered other outcasts to his side, forming his own pack.
His face never healed, it forever bled.

Many months later, his new pack of outcasts grown to be huge in number Blood Wolf returned home.
His new pack found his old pack and they lined up, all aware of what would happen.

Young Wolf and Blood Wolf eyed each other warily, knowing this would be a duel to the death.

Snarling and growling they battled for two days and two nights. Their packs watched in silence, none moving, none eating, none drinking.
Two days and two nights Young Wolf and Blood Wolf fought. Fur, blood and spittle flew. Both were wounded, both weakened but eventually Blood Wolf's jaws found Young Wolf's throat and tore it out.
Young Wolf collapsed, dead and Blood Wolf devoured him.

Standing there, his opponent's blood coating his muzzle Blood Wolf watched his old pack. To a wolf they lay down, baring their throats in submission.
This was the wolf's way.

This was no longer Blood Wolf's way.

With a single growl from his bloodied jaws his pack of outcasts descended on his old friends and slew them all."