When the Night-Hunt Comes

Farewells. How he hated them. More so than he hated ogres or snakes. They are more difficult to face than any battlefield that presents certain death. In a battle, an orc may decide the outcome for himself. The fate of it lies in his very own hands.
The fate of a farewell lies in the hands of luck, the spirits’ will, the elements, or even other people entirely. And having to rely on others? That is perhaps the thing this orc hated the very most. As he stood atop the zeppelin tower in the Grom’gol Outpost, his eyes narrowed at the inbound zeppelin; its shape accented by red crimson outlines from the setting sun in the distant ocean. Somewhere on that zeppelin, they were waiting for his final answer. But he knew they never had much doubt about the choice he would eventually make.

“Matron,” he bowed his head in greeting as the zeppelin docked. She was the first to meet him, and she looked at him with that all too familiar look of contempt in her eyes. He knew she disapproved of him leaving his own blood behind like this, even if it is for the good of the Horde. “Gratitude for coming here upon such short notice. Once more, I am in debt.” He spoke the words, but they were laden in malcontent. Being indebted to anyone or having to rely upon their services, be it a goblin slaver or a caring matron, was never a good thing in his eyes. When he saw them step up to the upper deck however, that feeling washed away like blood in the morning tide. They were what mattered – what this fight would be all about. He fell to one knee and welcomed all three of them in his arms. Kraag. Muzg. Katashka.

“Dada! When will we see you again for good? Why can’t you come with us now?” Katashka begged him as she looked up with her big, blue eyes. “Muzg and I made our own spirit snares like you used to show us! We have one for you too, when you go hunt with Shrewdie!” She reached into a satchel slung over her shoulder, taking out an intricately decorated trinket outstretched in her arms. Its earthy-coloured, soft leather patches were interwoven with a brighter red, and carried four bright feathers, several dark beads and two small, wooden totems.

He ran his fingers over the ornate decorations and their artwork. Runes were carved into their surface. They signified ‘Wild’, and ‘Free’. He raised a proud smile back to his two youngest. “You two fear the Night-Hunt will bring evil spirits to my side?” he smirked for a moment, realising the superstition the two may no doubt still cling to in their youth. Still, his face hardened as he thought of the trials that may lie ahead. Beyond that portal, there may be no telling what awaits him or any of his fellow orcs. Evil spirits or not, the sentiment is more than welcome now. “I will keep good hold of this, little Kat. I do not know when we shall see each other again, or what the world will be like when we do. We may both have seen many horrible things by then. But I shall think of all three of you every time I need to be reminded that there is yet beauty and goodness in this world.”

Clutching the spirit snare, he took them all in one, long embrace. It would be another hour before the zeppelin would set course back to Orgrimmar, allowing them some time left to catch up on lost times. They told him of the many things they were being taught with the Matron, and how their ‘wild hunting ways taught by their father’ would do them no good out there, giving them reason to sneak outside the walls whenever she was not looking. It made him forget about all that awaited him, and it did him well to know they would be left in good hands and have made the most of the amount of time he did get to spend with them himself.

Nonetheless, the hour passed as swiftly as water in the stream. When the time had come to give their final words, he knew the two youngest proved easy enough to explain himself to, and to perhaps even give a shred of hope for a future reunion, no matter how false it may well be. The eldest however... He was just about old enough to understand the gravity of the things that may come. And he was just about old enough to start keeping grudges. His tusks were already growing to be bigger than his thumbs, making the orc realize just how little he had seen the young Kraag in the past several moons. Regardless, the hair on his head was only enough to form a small warrior’s knot, and the sinewy muscles upon his dark, green hide were only just starting to take some shape, as his father laid a big hand upon his shoulder. Looking back up him, the young orc still had a very distinctively youthful gaze in his brown eyes, betraying the childhood that was taken from him all too quickly due to his own father’s shortcomings.

“Does it hurt?” the young orc suddenly asked, his inquisitive eyes piercing up into his father’s. “To die? What’s it like?”

He looked down upon Kraag, his hand reaching out to clasp around the shoulder as he knelt down to meet the child upon equal height. “Yes,” he grunted. “It does hurt. But it hurts a lot more to live. And compared to that pain, it passes in but a matter of seconds, before you go to meet your ancestors. So do not worry for me, if I do go to pass on. With any luck, I may go to meet your mother again soon.”

The young orc’s gaze hardened, or did its very best to do so. One could easily tell the tears were being fought back, in order to stand strong in front of his own father. “I -will- come after you if you don’t come back from the portal. We can’t go on without you as well, da. I don’t want you to die.”

“My Little Brother,” the orc grunted as he leaned in, pressing his forehead against his son’s. “Do not treat me as if I am already dead, or dying. If you see me that way, then I would rather truly be dead. You steal the now of my life away, when you fear that tomorrow will bring only death. Your fears clutch cold at me and snatch all pleasure of day's warmth from me.” He rose up to his feet, resting his hand atop Kraag’s head as he looked down upon his son. “This may be farewell. But when I tell you farewell, I do not say it is so forever. Only that I am going home now... And so are you.”

Looking back up to his father, Kraag knew exactly the meaning of his father’s words, no matter how simple they may sound to the ear. He simply threw himself against his father’s chest, taking him in one warm, final embrace, before they knew the time had come to part ways. Reluctantly, he stepped back and on to the creaking deck of the zeppelin behind him. “Farewell. I love you.”

“And I you, Little Brother. Iron in your Blood. Always,” the orc spoke back to Kraag as the goblins aboard the flying ship loosened the ropes from the zeppelin tower. Their brown gazes remained firmly set upon one another as the zeppelin slowly set its gears into motion, and began to drift away from the platform. His own fangs were firmly gritting upon one another, taking whatever was necessary not to show his own weakness. As the zeppelin floated away into the night, leaving but a few lit lanterns to betray its presence, he firmly clutched the spirit snare he was given.

"I do not suppose I shall find you there, on the other side of that thing," he grunted out into the night. Until he turned his head to his left, where a female stood, clad in a long robe and a small wolf mask atop her head.

"I do'nae kno'. Bu' I cannae go wit' y' throug' t'ere. Bu’ I trus’ y’ knew tha’."

He nodded, his hand still gripping around the leathery patterns of the gift given to him. "Then... now is the time to let go. And then this is goodbye. The goodbye that never was."

"Only ‘til wha’ comes after t’is life,” the female smiled back to the orc in an sympathetic, almost wishful manner.

He briefly closed his eyes, refusing to give in to everything that was pent up, bottled up, deep within. His fingers stroked along the length of the feathers and wooden icons of the spirit snare, taking comfort in their touch and the smell of their creators they still had upon them. He raised it to his nostrils, inhaling its well-defined scent, as he began to firmly bind it across the length of his left wrist.

Opening his eyes, he reached out to grab her hand one last time. As his fingers closed around her own however, there was nothing to grasp. She drifted away in the winds like autumn leaves, and all he grasped was thin air.

It was thin air all along.