Vilmah
08-16-2006, 08:15 AM
(3 weeks prior to today…)
Vilmah rode through Orgrimmar with her head held high. On her back, she carried knitted goods to be sold on the auction house. One of them, a scarf, was made just for her father. It was black, with orcs holding axes and cutting off the heads of dwarves. While she usually didn’t approve of such racism, she knew her father would approve.
The high city gates were comforting, after her last adventure through Zul’Farrak. The unwelcoming trolls weren’t exactly as friendly as the grunts she’d come to admire, but they were no less helpful. She smiled down admiringly at her new axe, and shifted her weight slightly on Edmund. The wolf gave a curious grunt.
“I’m just glad to be home, Ed,” she said with a happy sigh.
She slowed her speed once she passed through the short tunnel that led inside. In the middle of town, Vilmah was ambushed by the usual goings-on of Orgrimmar. Shouting merchants, adventurers looking for groups, the smell of fresh cut meat, and the shaking of the ground as kodo-riding tauren drifted by. Edmund shied away from the large beasts, before Vilmah gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and he continued on towards the Drag. Orgrimmar’s orphans ran by, playing a game of some sort, and a few of them stopped to catch a glimpse of Vilmah. It was then that she realized how much she’d changed in the past few months. Looking down at her tiny hands, she saw how worn and abused they’d become. Scars marred her once perfect skin. The back of her head had a dull throb that didn’t look like it would ever disappear, and her heavy plate seemed… almost light, now.
As she approached the home of Orgrimmar’s finest warrior trainers, an adolescent orc ran by her side, pleading for her to halt. “Excuse me, miss! Excuse me!”
She stopped immediately, and looked at him curiously. “Yes?”
“Are you… miss…” The boy was out of breath, from running to catch up with her. “Miss… Vilmah… Bloodborne?”
Vilmah nodded. “Mmm hmm! That’s me!”
“Here,” the boy said, handing her a sealed envelope. “This was sent to you from… Hammerfall.”
With wide eyes, Vilmah slid off of Edmund’s back and took the letter. She ripped open the envelope, and found a letter written in very poor handwriting.
Vilmah,
I am sorry our time together has been brief. I have been asked by Thrall himself, to be stationed in Warsong Gulch, to fight back the savage Night Elves. I am honored by his request, but I believe that at my age, this may very well be my last battle. Thank you for becoming the honorable warrior that you are. If we never meet again, know that I am proud of what you have become. Keep the bloodline strong. Be happy, and prosperous.
Your father,
Gor’mul
Vilmah read the letter over again, and again. She could hardly believe the words he’d written, and doubt began to cross her mind.
He’s too old to go to battle, and you know it! Shouted the voice in her head.
“What do you want…” Vilmah muttered.
Stop being a baby and tell him he can’t go! This is insane! Thrall can’t ask this of an old man like him!
Vilmah paused. “…well, Thrall is our leader. I can’t ask him to change his mind.”
That’s cowardice and you know it! How can father be proud of an imbecile like you!!
“Stop it,” Vilmah said through gritted teeth.
Ohhh, getting angry now, are we? The voice teased. Well good!! Maybe if you get angry, you can fix this mess!
“I’ll fix things my own way, thank you very much!” Vilmah said aloud.
Edmund gave her a strange look. One of the grunts gave her a stranger one. She cleared her throat, and hopped back on her wolf. Taking up his fur in her hands, she kicked him slightly, and made her way to Thrall’s chamber.
She couldn’t imagine what she’d say to the high Warchief. His wisdom was broader than the sky, and the thought of asking him to change his mind was such an alien concept, she wouldn’t know where to begin. As she reached the entrance to his chamber, she slid off of Edmund’s back, and told him to wait outside.
“And don’t make a nuisance of yourself,” she added quietly.
Inside, there were many guards. They looked intimidating, as Vilmah passed beneath them, almost short enough to barely reach their shoulders. She passed by some shamans as well, who were arguing about the properties of water elementals. Finally, she could see him ahead of her. Thrall stood with his back to her, looking over plans with one of his subordinates. He was huge, and looked as weathered as an old ship, but his power was unmistakable. One of the guards looked at her threateningly. “What?”
“Oh, I…” Her tongue wouldn’t move.
You are here to see Thrall!! The voice in her head shouted.
“I’m… would it be alright if… if I spoke with the Warchief, please?” She managed to squeak out.
The guard looked down at her, almost irritated, and walked to the warchief. After some talking, Thrall turned to Vilmah, and beckoned her over with one hand. Immediately, she could feel her face turning red. Her steps felt heavy, as if a frost spell had been cast on her feet. When she finally came close enough to see his war-beaten eyes, she realized how awkward she must have looked.
“…yes?” Thrall asked with a raised eyebrow.
Vilmah swallowed hard, and tried to speak. “I… uhm… that is, I…”
“You’re name?”
“Oh!” She mentally kicked herself. The voice in her head sighed, irritated. “Vilmah, sir. Vilmah Bloodborne.”
Thrall nodded. “I see. You are one of my Senior Sergeants, are you not?”
Vilmah nodded. “Yes, sir. Senior Sergeant Vilmah Bloodborne, of Sanctuary, here to speak with you about an… an urgent personal matter.”
“Sanctuary,” Thrall repeated, musing. “I have heard of you, but not much. It is said you are a rag-tag group of go-gooders, who actually try to uphold the truce. Is this true?”
The diminutive orc nodded. “Yes, sir. We fight for peace. Even if it doesn’t always work out the way we want it to…”
“Very well, then. What personal matter have you to discuss with me, Vilmah Bloodborne?”
She cleared her throat, and tried to come up with a way to begin. “Uhm… well, the thing is, sir… I was raised here in Orgrimmar, as an orphan, and I… sort of… well, I always wanted to know who my family was. Well… a few weeks ago… I found out that my father was still alive.”
Thrall nodded. “Indeed, lineage can be important. Go on.”
“Yes, well… I discovered that he was in Hammerfall. His name is Gor’mul.”
“Ah yes, Gor’mul,” Thrall said. “I have recently asked that he lead platoon in Warsong Gulch. The Night Elves are giving us no end of trouble, and I consider his vast military knowledge a benefit.”
Vilmah nodded. “Yes… but, the fact is sir, I’m afraid that if he goes, we will not survive. And I know it’s selfish, but…” Her head hung in shame. “I don’t want to see him die, so soon after I’ve found him.”
“War can be trying, Vilmah Bloodborne,” Thrall said with a low voice. “And while I understand your plight, I can not make changes based on personal causes. The Horde must fight as one, and we must be willing to make sacrifices. You should be proud of your father, and his willingness to fight until the very end. He is what the Horde should strive to be. I will tell him of your loyalty when he reports to me. I am sure it will fuel his fire on the battlefield, all the more.”
Vilmah nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand.” She sighed, and reached into her backpack. “Um… sir, if it wouldn’t be too much to ask… could you give him something, for me? I’m sure it would mean a lot, coming from you.”
“And what’s that?”
She pulled out the scarf she’d knitted. Black, with orcs and their axes high, decapitating dwarves. “I knit this for him, because Arathi can be very cold.”
“You… knit it?” Thrall said, looking over the scarf.
Vilmah nodded. “Mmm hmm. I thought maybe, I could give it to him myself, but…” Her eyes began to burn, and she tried hard to fight back tears with the back of her hands, but they came anyway. “…but I guess I’ll never be able to, now.”
Thrall stood still, looking at the scarf. At his side, one of his subordinates looked impatiently at a set of plans, while his guards shifted weight from foot to food. The Warchief cracked a smile, and lifted Vilmah’s chin. “You’re far too light-hearted for the work you do, Vilmah Bloodborne. I think that it would be beneficial for you to go into Warsong Gulch yourself, and become a great asset to your cause. Besides,” he smiled wider. “A young gifted warrior can fight years longer than an old one. I am counting on you, to take your father’s place.”
Vilmah’s tears stopped, and she looked up at the Warchief in disbelief. A moment of awkward silence covered them, followed by a sharp squeal from Vilmah’s throat as she wrapped her arms around Thrall’s waist and hugged him. “Oh, sir! Thank you so much!!”
The guards rushed over, sensing the need for an attack, but Thrall held up a hand. He looked down at Vilmah, wearing a slightly uncomfortable smile, and patted her shoulder in an awkward friendly way. “Um… there, it’s quite alright.”
Vilmah stepped back, and wiped her eyes again. “You don’t know how wonderful this is, sir! Now I’ll be able to see my father again, and even better; make him proud of me!”
Thrall nodded, and handed her back the scarf. “You can give him this yourself, then.”
With a grin, Vilmah pushed the scarf back at Thrall. “No way! You’ve been so kind, sir, please take it. I can make another one for my father, I want you to have that, with my gratitude!”
Thrall looked at the scarf, not knowing what to do with it. “Very… well. Senior Sergeant Vilmah Bloodborne of Sanctuary, you are dismissed.”
Vilmah saluted Thrall, and ran from his chambers with the heaviness in her heart lifted. As soon as she reached Edmund, one of the guards tapped her shoulder. She turned to face him, and saw that he was holding a set of papers for her.
“Your orders, Senior Sergeant Bloodborne.”
Vilmah took them and thanked the guard, then tore them open. Written at the top, beside her name, was a strange title she’d never seen before. It looked as if it had been written quickly, but she could still make out the words;
Senior Sergeant Vilmah Bloodborne, Sanctuary
High Knitter of Orgrimmar
With a happy squeal, she hugged the orders tightly to her chest, and reached into her backpack to pull out some parchment and a pen. She knew her time in Orgrimmar was short, but there was one more thing to do before she left for Warsong Gulch.
Dear Nojinbu,
Do you believe it?? I’ve been given a title by Thrall himself! High Knitter of Orgrimmar! He’s sent me to fight in Warsong Gulch, and I’m so excited, because this means that my father won’t have to fight! I’ll get to see him again, and spirits willing, you too! I’ve missed you so much. Please be careful, while I’m gone. Take care of yourself. Remember how much I care about you. I’ll be sure to contact you as soon as my time here is finished!
Sanctuary!
Love always,
Vilmah
(To be continued...)
Vilmah rode through Orgrimmar with her head held high. On her back, she carried knitted goods to be sold on the auction house. One of them, a scarf, was made just for her father. It was black, with orcs holding axes and cutting off the heads of dwarves. While she usually didn’t approve of such racism, she knew her father would approve.
The high city gates were comforting, after her last adventure through Zul’Farrak. The unwelcoming trolls weren’t exactly as friendly as the grunts she’d come to admire, but they were no less helpful. She smiled down admiringly at her new axe, and shifted her weight slightly on Edmund. The wolf gave a curious grunt.
“I’m just glad to be home, Ed,” she said with a happy sigh.
She slowed her speed once she passed through the short tunnel that led inside. In the middle of town, Vilmah was ambushed by the usual goings-on of Orgrimmar. Shouting merchants, adventurers looking for groups, the smell of fresh cut meat, and the shaking of the ground as kodo-riding tauren drifted by. Edmund shied away from the large beasts, before Vilmah gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and he continued on towards the Drag. Orgrimmar’s orphans ran by, playing a game of some sort, and a few of them stopped to catch a glimpse of Vilmah. It was then that she realized how much she’d changed in the past few months. Looking down at her tiny hands, she saw how worn and abused they’d become. Scars marred her once perfect skin. The back of her head had a dull throb that didn’t look like it would ever disappear, and her heavy plate seemed… almost light, now.
As she approached the home of Orgrimmar’s finest warrior trainers, an adolescent orc ran by her side, pleading for her to halt. “Excuse me, miss! Excuse me!”
She stopped immediately, and looked at him curiously. “Yes?”
“Are you… miss…” The boy was out of breath, from running to catch up with her. “Miss… Vilmah… Bloodborne?”
Vilmah nodded. “Mmm hmm! That’s me!”
“Here,” the boy said, handing her a sealed envelope. “This was sent to you from… Hammerfall.”
With wide eyes, Vilmah slid off of Edmund’s back and took the letter. She ripped open the envelope, and found a letter written in very poor handwriting.
Vilmah,
I am sorry our time together has been brief. I have been asked by Thrall himself, to be stationed in Warsong Gulch, to fight back the savage Night Elves. I am honored by his request, but I believe that at my age, this may very well be my last battle. Thank you for becoming the honorable warrior that you are. If we never meet again, know that I am proud of what you have become. Keep the bloodline strong. Be happy, and prosperous.
Your father,
Gor’mul
Vilmah read the letter over again, and again. She could hardly believe the words he’d written, and doubt began to cross her mind.
He’s too old to go to battle, and you know it! Shouted the voice in her head.
“What do you want…” Vilmah muttered.
Stop being a baby and tell him he can’t go! This is insane! Thrall can’t ask this of an old man like him!
Vilmah paused. “…well, Thrall is our leader. I can’t ask him to change his mind.”
That’s cowardice and you know it! How can father be proud of an imbecile like you!!
“Stop it,” Vilmah said through gritted teeth.
Ohhh, getting angry now, are we? The voice teased. Well good!! Maybe if you get angry, you can fix this mess!
“I’ll fix things my own way, thank you very much!” Vilmah said aloud.
Edmund gave her a strange look. One of the grunts gave her a stranger one. She cleared her throat, and hopped back on her wolf. Taking up his fur in her hands, she kicked him slightly, and made her way to Thrall’s chamber.
She couldn’t imagine what she’d say to the high Warchief. His wisdom was broader than the sky, and the thought of asking him to change his mind was such an alien concept, she wouldn’t know where to begin. As she reached the entrance to his chamber, she slid off of Edmund’s back, and told him to wait outside.
“And don’t make a nuisance of yourself,” she added quietly.
Inside, there were many guards. They looked intimidating, as Vilmah passed beneath them, almost short enough to barely reach their shoulders. She passed by some shamans as well, who were arguing about the properties of water elementals. Finally, she could see him ahead of her. Thrall stood with his back to her, looking over plans with one of his subordinates. He was huge, and looked as weathered as an old ship, but his power was unmistakable. One of the guards looked at her threateningly. “What?”
“Oh, I…” Her tongue wouldn’t move.
You are here to see Thrall!! The voice in her head shouted.
“I’m… would it be alright if… if I spoke with the Warchief, please?” She managed to squeak out.
The guard looked down at her, almost irritated, and walked to the warchief. After some talking, Thrall turned to Vilmah, and beckoned her over with one hand. Immediately, she could feel her face turning red. Her steps felt heavy, as if a frost spell had been cast on her feet. When she finally came close enough to see his war-beaten eyes, she realized how awkward she must have looked.
“…yes?” Thrall asked with a raised eyebrow.
Vilmah swallowed hard, and tried to speak. “I… uhm… that is, I…”
“You’re name?”
“Oh!” She mentally kicked herself. The voice in her head sighed, irritated. “Vilmah, sir. Vilmah Bloodborne.”
Thrall nodded. “I see. You are one of my Senior Sergeants, are you not?”
Vilmah nodded. “Yes, sir. Senior Sergeant Vilmah Bloodborne, of Sanctuary, here to speak with you about an… an urgent personal matter.”
“Sanctuary,” Thrall repeated, musing. “I have heard of you, but not much. It is said you are a rag-tag group of go-gooders, who actually try to uphold the truce. Is this true?”
The diminutive orc nodded. “Yes, sir. We fight for peace. Even if it doesn’t always work out the way we want it to…”
“Very well, then. What personal matter have you to discuss with me, Vilmah Bloodborne?”
She cleared her throat, and tried to come up with a way to begin. “Uhm… well, the thing is, sir… I was raised here in Orgrimmar, as an orphan, and I… sort of… well, I always wanted to know who my family was. Well… a few weeks ago… I found out that my father was still alive.”
Thrall nodded. “Indeed, lineage can be important. Go on.”
“Yes, well… I discovered that he was in Hammerfall. His name is Gor’mul.”
“Ah yes, Gor’mul,” Thrall said. “I have recently asked that he lead platoon in Warsong Gulch. The Night Elves are giving us no end of trouble, and I consider his vast military knowledge a benefit.”
Vilmah nodded. “Yes… but, the fact is sir, I’m afraid that if he goes, we will not survive. And I know it’s selfish, but…” Her head hung in shame. “I don’t want to see him die, so soon after I’ve found him.”
“War can be trying, Vilmah Bloodborne,” Thrall said with a low voice. “And while I understand your plight, I can not make changes based on personal causes. The Horde must fight as one, and we must be willing to make sacrifices. You should be proud of your father, and his willingness to fight until the very end. He is what the Horde should strive to be. I will tell him of your loyalty when he reports to me. I am sure it will fuel his fire on the battlefield, all the more.”
Vilmah nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand.” She sighed, and reached into her backpack. “Um… sir, if it wouldn’t be too much to ask… could you give him something, for me? I’m sure it would mean a lot, coming from you.”
“And what’s that?”
She pulled out the scarf she’d knitted. Black, with orcs and their axes high, decapitating dwarves. “I knit this for him, because Arathi can be very cold.”
“You… knit it?” Thrall said, looking over the scarf.
Vilmah nodded. “Mmm hmm. I thought maybe, I could give it to him myself, but…” Her eyes began to burn, and she tried hard to fight back tears with the back of her hands, but they came anyway. “…but I guess I’ll never be able to, now.”
Thrall stood still, looking at the scarf. At his side, one of his subordinates looked impatiently at a set of plans, while his guards shifted weight from foot to food. The Warchief cracked a smile, and lifted Vilmah’s chin. “You’re far too light-hearted for the work you do, Vilmah Bloodborne. I think that it would be beneficial for you to go into Warsong Gulch yourself, and become a great asset to your cause. Besides,” he smiled wider. “A young gifted warrior can fight years longer than an old one. I am counting on you, to take your father’s place.”
Vilmah’s tears stopped, and she looked up at the Warchief in disbelief. A moment of awkward silence covered them, followed by a sharp squeal from Vilmah’s throat as she wrapped her arms around Thrall’s waist and hugged him. “Oh, sir! Thank you so much!!”
The guards rushed over, sensing the need for an attack, but Thrall held up a hand. He looked down at Vilmah, wearing a slightly uncomfortable smile, and patted her shoulder in an awkward friendly way. “Um… there, it’s quite alright.”
Vilmah stepped back, and wiped her eyes again. “You don’t know how wonderful this is, sir! Now I’ll be able to see my father again, and even better; make him proud of me!”
Thrall nodded, and handed her back the scarf. “You can give him this yourself, then.”
With a grin, Vilmah pushed the scarf back at Thrall. “No way! You’ve been so kind, sir, please take it. I can make another one for my father, I want you to have that, with my gratitude!”
Thrall looked at the scarf, not knowing what to do with it. “Very… well. Senior Sergeant Vilmah Bloodborne of Sanctuary, you are dismissed.”
Vilmah saluted Thrall, and ran from his chambers with the heaviness in her heart lifted. As soon as she reached Edmund, one of the guards tapped her shoulder. She turned to face him, and saw that he was holding a set of papers for her.
“Your orders, Senior Sergeant Bloodborne.”
Vilmah took them and thanked the guard, then tore them open. Written at the top, beside her name, was a strange title she’d never seen before. It looked as if it had been written quickly, but she could still make out the words;
Senior Sergeant Vilmah Bloodborne, Sanctuary
High Knitter of Orgrimmar
With a happy squeal, she hugged the orders tightly to her chest, and reached into her backpack to pull out some parchment and a pen. She knew her time in Orgrimmar was short, but there was one more thing to do before she left for Warsong Gulch.
Dear Nojinbu,
Do you believe it?? I’ve been given a title by Thrall himself! High Knitter of Orgrimmar! He’s sent me to fight in Warsong Gulch, and I’m so excited, because this means that my father won’t have to fight! I’ll get to see him again, and spirits willing, you too! I’ve missed you so much. Please be careful, while I’m gone. Take care of yourself. Remember how much I care about you. I’ll be sure to contact you as soon as my time here is finished!
Sanctuary!
Love always,
Vilmah
(To be continued...)