The Ring of Honor

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Vilmah sat on the ground.

The Durotar air was hot and dry. She took long slow breaths, her eyes closed with the sound of the wind in her ears. The sun beat down on her bare shoulders, her armor having been removed to allow her more room to move in the blistering sun. The sun never bothered Vilmah much. Having lived her first years in Hammerfall, Vilmah’s tastes lie with heat. As opposed to the stifling cold of Hammerfall’s winters where they never gave her people enough clothes or blankets, and the orcs remained too depressed and lethargic to even hug.

Swallowing down her frustration, Vilmah put her hands on the ground.

“C’mon…” She whispered. “C’mon… please…”

It was something she hadn’t done since she was fourteen years old. Vilmah sat in concentration, attempting to do something that refused to be done; to be more than a warrior. The spirits had been silent to her, and there were no hell born fires that rose to meet her fingers. After three years of endless battle, hardships, friends loved and lost, she thought that perhaps this time she might be able to hear them. Perhaps three years would grant her the skill, the wisdom, and in her mind, the worth.

The ground remained silent.


Still, she sat on the ground. Vilmah begged, pleaded, and prayed for the spirits to take her seriously. After learning that Broxigan could not only speak to spirits, but had communicated with her long passed mother, guilt and anger ate at her stomach. Not to mention envy. The idea of Broxigan being chosen to speak to her mother and his own parents made the orcess feel even worse than she had, the day her trainers told her to her face that she wouldn’t be worth more than a pig farmer or a whore; and not a very good example of either.

Gripping the sand in her hands, she shook slightly.


A wind blew past her face, filling her mouth with sand. Sputtering in frustration, Vilmah stood up and spit on the ground. The spitting begat anger, and the anger begat Vilmah’s fists on the ground as she threw herself upon it to scream.

“Dammit! Why is it never me?? Why was I never good enough?? Tell me! Talk to me, damn it!! Do SOMETHING!!”

The spirits ignored her. Or if they didn’t, they made no effort to speak.

Realizing the futility in her tantrum, Vilmah huffed through her nose and went towards her pile of armor. Standing before it, an older orc watched on with a smirk.

“Angry, are we?” He asked cheekily.

Vilmah frowned deeply. There was something familiar in his old battle scarred face, but she doubted that there were many orcs she hadn’t seen at least once. Reaching for her axe, she tried to ignore him. His fist however, had other plans. It stopped her advances by blocking her wrist as he smirked on. “Hey,” she grunted. “Lemme get my stuff.”

“You always were impulsive,” he chuckled. “I remember you wanting to be anything, to prove us wrong.”

Vilmah frowned, standing up straight. “What?”

“You mean you don’t remember me?” Zul'tag said with a grin, the cut that split his lip allowing drool to slide down his chin. “I didn’t believe her, when the matron said that you had talent. Now I hear you’re vanguarding trolls in Zul’Aman!”

Narrowing her eyes, Vilmah attempted to treat Zul'tag with respect. He had done her no favors in the past. Each of her former trainers and mentors treated their students like cattle, but she understood at the time that it was due to them being expendable. Now that thought made her sick. “Yeah. It’s true.”

“What were you doing out here, then? A poor spot for a warrior to train.”

Vilmah folded her arms in embarrassment, turning way from the old orc to focus on a bird in the distance. “I was meditating.”

Zul'tag’s laugh was like a gunshot. It came out in loud bursts, spittle flying from the cut in his mouth. “Ha-HA! Meditating?? You? What the hell for, girl??”

“Because I wanted to hear them!” She shouted towards his face, her small body allowing her face only as far as his chest. “Everyone I know is either a brilliant fighter, or some kind of seer. I’m neither, and considering how much crap I get from my own people it’s bound to piss me off a little!”

The old warrior grunted a chuckle, “We’re not all of us cut out to be shamans. Thrall is special. You should make peace with the fact that you are not.”

Hearing her fate from Zul'tag’s mouth made Vilmah’s face burn with shame. She turned away from him once more, her body slumped in defeat. “I suppose you’re right.”

“But there is more to you than your inability to talk to them, runt,” Zul'tag grunted, slapping her back. “Stop looking like that! There is no orcish pride in self pity and shame! Look at me when I talk to you.”

Vilmah turned, realizing her mistake.

“You stand here asking to talk to spirits, when you have many powerful warriors at your command. Some of them can speak to the spirits. What does that say for your skill?”

Blinking, she turned her head slightly, “Well… I—“

“Ha-HA! If I had the men you have, we would have wiped out Silvermoon… down to the last elf. Now look at us. We call them brother and they haunt our cities. Reminders of our shame.”

Vilmah frowned. “There is no shame in having allies. If we’re to live here, we’d better get used to sharing this land. You know that as much as I do, as does Thrall.”

“I’ve heard of your Alliance-pandering ways, runt,” he said with a smirk. “You might be leading warriors into Zul’Aman, but you are also preaching things that would make your father vomit with shame. Gor’mul was once the best of us, and now he is an example of our greatest misery. His son is gone like the wind, his wife dead, and his daughter…”

He grinned.

“Well… look at you.”

“After three years of taking this, your insults don’t do much,” she commented, her own lips turning to smirk. “I’m not afraid of your stupid insults anymore.”

“So you’re not,” he concurred. “You’re doing things now that I never would have expected of you, or any of my students. Fighting in Outland, leading warriors into the forbidden troll city, and, I’ve even heard, befriending Alliance.”

Vilmah grinned, “Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises.”

Zul'tag blinked, looking at her skeptically, “I’ve heard rumors, but, they’re not true are they? About you having Alliance allies, calling them brother, and allowing them to walk beside you?”

She shrugged, “Yeah, it’s true. I treat them as I would any of my friends. I trust them with my life.”

“And your home?”

“Sure, I’ve nothing to fear from them. They’re as strong and as capable as any member of the Horde, and if I didn’t welcome them to my home, I’d be a hypocrite.”

Zul'tag chuckled, shaking his head, “Oh, Bloodborne… you certainly have surprised me.”

“Yeah, well,” she smirked, looking cocky. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Indeed you are. KOR’KRON!”

Vilmah blinked as Zul'tag shouted the name of Thrall’s elite guard, and suddenly she was surrounded. They came from behind the large stones which shielded her, their weapons glistening in the sun, their armor clanking metal against metal as they took their positions around the tiny orc. She had always admired the Kor'Kron Elite, never imagining that one day they might raise a weapon against her. One of them grabbed her wrists, and held them behind her back. Vilmah looked around in shock, too surprised to move against them. “What the hell is this?!”

“Vilmah Bloodborne, Warboss of Sanctuary,” Zul'tag recited, reading off of a scroll in his hands. “You are under arrest for harboring members of the Alliance. We have reason to believe that you allowed a member of the Alliance into Orgrimmar, thus endangering the Warchief. You are accused of being a traitor of the Horde. What do you say of that?”

Her eyes went wide with realization. This had been a set-up, the whole time. “I… I do have Alliance allies, but—“

"So you admit that you let them walk with you into Orgrimmar? Hidden?"

Vilmah grit her teeth, remembering Laron. How many times had he walked the streets of Orgrimmar, wearing Sanctuary's tabard? "I... it wasn't to..."

“That’s all I need. Take her!”

Without a struggle, she let them lead her towards Orgrimmar. One of the Kor’kron Elite pilled up her armor in his arms, while another took Gorehowl into his hands. He was amazed with it’s weight.

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Being led through Orgrimmar by shackles was not something that Vilmah ever thought about. Of course, she had seen it happen to others. Orcs who had done awful things, from simple crimes to severe acts of injustice. She had seen Alliance in chains as well, many of them with their heads raised in defiance. Most of the time, Vilmah considered that they were criminals. She didn’t second guess the Horde’s choices, since it was Thrall that was making the biggest decisions concerning what was crime and what was not. However, as she felt the weight of the iron on her wrists, and the spit of her people on the back of her neck, she wondered what sort of mistakes had led to this point.

She also wondered how Sanctuary would respond to what was happening. There was no doubt in her mind that the Grim would probably get a good laugh at her predicament, and considered the possibility that at least several of them would add their spit to the collection forming on her skin. Her own men however, she thought of seriously. If they tried anything drastic, they might either join her or receive worse treatment. Her primary concern was to reach them as soon as possible.

“Where are you taking me?” She asked quietly, her voice compliant. Vilmah had learned a long time ago that when in doubt, being calm and rational was the best way to get answers.

One of the Kor’kron guards nodded towards their destination, which seemed to be the Valley of Honor. Vilmah looked at him with confusion, but the orc made no move to change his stoic expression. Zul'tag had left them as soon as they walked through the gates, and she was accompanied now only by guards. Every so often, a member of the Horde would take note of their procession, and make a face that was determined by their opinion of Vilmah. Some of them seemed shocked, but more often than not, they regarded her capture with a sneer.

Spirits, how Vilmah hated spit.

When they finally reached the Valley of Honor, they led their prisoner towards the Ring of Valor. At the entrance, several orcs were milling about. One of them, a tall sort of male wearing heavy robes, smiled a toothy grin(with several missing teeth) as he looked Vilmah over.

“So this is it?” He asked the Kor’kron. “This is all I get?”

The guard who had earlier spoken to Vilmah nodded once. “She is in your custody until tomorrow. That is when she will face trial. Until then, you’re to keep here here. Make sue that no harm comes to her, until tomorrow. Thrall’s orders.”

Thrall’s orders?? Vilmah repeated in her head. How can this be? He knows me. He knows that I would never betray him. This has to be some mistake.

“Very well!” The smiling orc replied, clapping his hands once. “Bolver? Tao! Take our guest to her quarters. I’ll just pay our Kor’kron friends, here…”

The guard shook his head, signaling for the others to leave. “That won’t be necessary. This is an official mandate.”

“Ha! Go on, then. Tell Thrall that I’ll keep a good watchful eye on his little assassin,” he said with a friendly air. He was obviously an older orc, with wrinkles lining his eyes and nose. “I’ll make sure to give you all a good seat!”

As the Kor’kron left, Vilmah wondered what he meant by ‘good seat’. An orc and a troll, each of them wearing heavy leather armor, grabbed Vilmah by the forearms and lifted her effortlessly into the air. Chuckling, the troll regarded her weight by raising her up and down by the arm. “What be dis?? Ah t’oughtya said dis one was a warria!”

The tauren grunted, obviously not amused. His long grizzled black beard looked as if it were caked with something; possibly blood. “Shut up, Tao.”

Still cackling, the troll led Vilmah through the Ring of Valor, taking her full weight into his arms. Hanging limply, Vilmah’s face resembled an angry cat. Bolver meanwhile, followed him close behind, suddenly moving in front of them both to open a door that Vilmah had never noticed before. “Where are we going?” She asked, with obvious curiosity.

“Ta ‘ell,” Tao chuckled, walking through the door.

It was unlit behind the door, and for a few seconds they walked in complete silence. Soon however, light began to filter through, and they were illuminated by torches hanging from the stone walls. As they walked, their footsteps sounded more and more hollow, as if they were walking deeper and deeper into the earth. Finally, they reached a series of cells that had been built into the walls, thick iron bars shielding them from the people locked inside.

There was a large variety of prisoners, it seemed. From trolls, to orcs, to even the stray night elf, Vilmah took note of the various races who looked both bloodthirsty and depressed as their paced or slept. They continued walking until they reached the end of the hall, and came to a cell containing only a single tauren. “Dis one,” Tao said cheerfully. “Ey mon! You der! You got yase’f a roommate! Ha!”

The tauren looked up at Vilmah with bloodshot eyes. Right away she decided that it would probably be best not to bother him, if it could be avoided. Bolver unlocked the door, allowing Tao to throw Vilmah inside. Once they locked her in, she rushed to the door and looked at her captors. “My trial, tomorrow right? They’re going to let me go, if they find me innocent?”

Tao laughed once more. “Sho’, mon! If dey find ya innocent, ya can go!”

There seemed to be an unspoken lie hidden in his words, but Vilmah let it slide. “My guild, could you deliver a message?”

Bolver and Tao exchanged looks. The tauren nodded. “Fine. What?”

“Just…” She blinked, searching for the words. “Could you tell them, that I’m okay? And that they shouldn’t worry?”

A smirk came over Bolver’s face, which he passed on to Tao. The both of them walked down into the hall, not giving Vilmah another word.

“Hey--, hey!!”

The other prisoners glanced at her, but for the most part nobody responded to her cries. Still shackled at the wrists, her entire world turned upside-down, Vilmah’s mouth hung open in disbelief.

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"Lady Sunspell?"

Saphiara looked up from her papers to see her aide standing in the doorway, holding a pose she knew meant a high ranking visitor. She put down her pen and slid the work aside, nodding for him to continue.

"Commander Trollslaughter to see you, ma'am." A Blood Knight, larger in stature than most males of their race, stepped into her office as she stood at attention. The commander waved it off and took a seat, gesturing for Saphiara to reclaim her own.

"I'll get straight to the point. The leader of Sanctuary, Vilmah Bloodborne, has just been arrested for high treason by Thrall's personal guard."

Saphiara scowled and leaned forward. "On what grounds? I have met the girl as ordered...granted, I am not comfortable about her relationship with some who serve the Alliance, but she genuinely believes that what she does is in the best interest of the Horde."

"She arranged for the assassination of Thrall himself. I'm sure you read the briefing on that event?"

The knight-ranger glanced towards a small file, which included the limited amount of intelligence she had managed to gather on Sanctuary's activities during her short time as a member. There was nothing in there of any real interest, and especially nothing to implicate she would be capable of such an act. "Commander, I wish to repeat my displeasure at the nature of my assignment. I am a member of the tactical corps, not an intelligence agent. To use my friendship with these people in such a manner is -"

" exactly what you were ordered to do, Lieutenant. Your objections are immaterial; all I care about is that you perform your duty as instructed. Now - what have you uncovered regarding this assassination plot? If we can provide the damning proof of her complicity in the attempt, it will grant us long strides in gaining greater power within the Horde."

Saphiara felt her upper lip twitch, and she choked back a growl. There was no assumption of potential innocence here, only a ploy on the part of the High Command that a political opportunity was at hand. "I cannot provide you that which does not exist. I am confident in her innocence in the crime. I am also confident that Orgrimmar will come to the same conclusion."

The commander stood and straightened his tunic, glaring down at the woman still sitting at her desk. "Find that proof. I don't care where it comes from, but the Sin'Dorei will be acclaimed for bringing Thrall's attempted assassin to justice. And you, Lieutenant, will find your career back on the fast track." He started to walk out the office, then stopped in the doorway. "Or, you can remain as stubborn as you are now, and you will find your usefulness just enough to leave you in this office for the rest of your days..." He smirked, then strode down the hallway and out of sight.

Saphiara glared daggers at his back, then grabbed a blank piece of parchment and hurridly scribbled a note upon it. She leaned out the window and whistled, waiting a few moments for the large white owl to flutter down onto the nearby branch. She took the note and quickly tied it to Ivory's leg. "Take this to my sister, as swiftly as you can."

Ivory hooted once, then took off towards the outskirts of the city. Saphiara watched her companion fly off, hoping that Ninorra would know what to do, and how to mobilize Sanctuary.

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Having known the tragedies and injustice of the orcish internment camps, Vilmah was highly confused as to how they could treat their own people with such barbarism. The cells underground were cold and damp, and having been given no blanket or change of clothes, she spent the night huddled for warmth as far away from her roommate as possible. It was the first time she envied tauren for their fur.

When morning finally arrived, several Kor’kron accompanied Tao through the hall, towards Vilmah’s cell. She blinked blearily for a moment, thinking for a moment that this might all be a bad dream, then quickly leapt to her feet to meet them. “My trial? Is Thrall going to see me?”

The Kor’kron did not reply to her right away. First, they grabbed her by the shackles at her wrists, and then they connected a thick iron chain that they would use to lead her through the streets. Finally, as they pushed her out of the cell, one of them spoke. “No. You will be speaking to Blackfist the Conqueror. Thrall is far too busy to see to your trial personally.”


She had truthfully never heard of him, and this worried her. An unnamed conqueror to determine her fate? It did not spell good news for Vilmah. Allowing someone with no previous contact to decide whether or not she might be set free could easily allow him to twist her actions and make her seem like a criminal. Even she had to admit that the things that she had done, in conjunction to the Alliance, were often illegal in the eyes of the Horde. Despite the fact that she did what she did for the good of her people, it was still against Orgrimmar’s laws. This alone did not bode well for her.

As she walked into Grommash Hold, Vilmah remembered the countless interviews she had done there. So many members of Sanctuary, herself included, were inducted into their ranks within that building. Glancing towards one of the tables, she recalled clearly how Grisch had made her deliver a message on foot, then take an oath. There were so few of them, then.

She was quickly ripped from her revere as their procession stopped, and they were led into an area several yards away from Thrall. He was not there at the moment, and Vilmah wondered if perhaps he might be in Nagrand.

“Senior Sergeant Vilmah Bloodborne, Warboss of Sanctuary, and… what is this?” Came a deep voice.

She glanced up, and noticed a large heavy-set orc with a sloped forehead and heavily bearded jaw, reading from a dark scroll. He wore armor similar to the Kor’kron, except that it was tinted with dark brown. Looking up at their captive, he regarded her with confusion as she spoke. “..high knitter of Orgrimmar?”

“Sometimes I wonder what the Warchief is thinking,” he grumbled irritably, then folded up the parchment. “But not today. Vilmah Bloodborne, my name is Ignar Blackfist. I am to take charge of your prosecution. You have been charged with high treason, which includes your involvement with the Alliance in conjunction to the plot to assassinate the Warchief. Should you be found guilty, your fate will be left in the hands of our gladiatorial tournaments. Should you be found innocent, you are free to go. Have you any questions?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly. “Where is Thrall? He knows that I would never bring him to any harm, and he knows me! Everyone knows of my loyalty to Orgrimmar.”

“Your lamenting aside,” Blackfoot said reproachfully. “You are accused of attempted murder, conspiracy, and the aiding of trespass into Orgrimmar. How do you plead?”

“Not…” Vilmah paused, realizing what she was about to say. If she said ‘not guilty’, she would be lying. Yes, she had allowed her friends to enter Orgrimmar. In fact, she helped several of them to do so. Pleading not guilty, and then having it proven false, would do nothing but grant her a death sentence. Besides that, she couldn’t bring herself to lie.

Frowning slightly, she cleared her throat.

“..for… the first two charges, I plead not guilty.”

Blackfist rose an eyebrow in consideration, “And the third?”

Vilmah took a deep breath, her eyes focused on the ground. “You’ll have to let me explain.”

“Guilty or not guilty?”

“I do what I do for the sake of the horde, and—“

“Guilty, or not guilty?”

“They would never hurt the Warchief! They are allies to the—“


Blackfist’s voice pierced the ears of all those around them. His dark brown eyes settled on Vilmah’s face, boring holes into her as he frowned with disapproval.

“Guilty, or not guilty?”

Understanding her position, she swallowed. Vilmah stood up straight, the strain of her decision weighing heavily upon her young features. “I suppose I’m guilty.”

The silence that followed Vilmah’s confession lasted half a minute, at least. As she stared defiantly at Blackfist, the Kor’kron shuffled in their spots, awaiting orders. When finally Blackfist found the words to respond, he took a step forward. “You admit to allowing the Alliance to breach our cities gates? Knowing full well that it was illegal, and that should you be caught, you would face punishment?”

Vilmah stiffened her lip, attempting to keep it from trembling. “Yes.”

“And you understand that your confession is more than enough proof to convict you?”


Blackfoot signaled one of the guards, “Very well, then.”

Feeling hands tug at her chain, Vilmah’s eyes went wide. “Wait! Wait, don’t I get a chance to defend myself?? I did what I did for the good of the Horde! Thrall would understand, he knows about everything I do, he—“

“You are hereby sentenced to fight within the gladiatorial tournaments,” Blackfoot muttered, writing on a large piece of parchment. “Should you be victorious, you will be allowed the chance to defend your case. Until then, you are now the legal property of Orgrimmar. As a prisoner, you have no rights but the right to defend yourself in combat.”

Vilmah’s chest thudded as her heart raced. Feeling the chain tug at her once more, she struggled against their pulling and shouted into Grommash Hold. “Wait! This can’t be right, I am not a traitor! I am not a traitor, I promise!!”

Not far away, the Warchief Thrall watched as one of his men lay a map in front of him. The sound of Vilmah’s voice as she was forcefully led out of earshot caused his brow to furrow, but did little else to occupy his thoughts.

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The return to her cell was far less of a spectacle than the rest of her walks. With her eyes fixated on the ground, she made it a point not to look depressed or enraged, or anything else that might give the public something to talk about. The Kor'kron were unusually quiet around her, and even as she was shuffled back into her holding cell by Tao, Vilmah felt like they were purposefully avoiding conversation. Most likely, she imagined, their shame in her was too deep for communication.

As she entered her cell, Vilmah allowed herself to look diredctly at the tauren who had been designated her "roommate". He looked as if he was meditating, as he sat in a kneeling position and faced an empty wall with his eyes sleepily opened. Having had enough silence, Vilmah spoke up. "...hey. Hey, can I talk to you?"

The tauren grunted dismissively.

"Good. If you don't mind, I'd like a little bit of information. See, as it turnes out, I've got to fight in these 'gladiator' things, and nobody's given me a good explanation as to what the heck that means."

Silance answered Vilmah's question, which resulted in her talking more.

"I mean, I get that I'm supposed to fight, but... how many guys? For how long? Is it to the death? Are people gonna come and watch me get myself broken? Is Thrall going to care if I get killed for a conspiracy I had nothing to do with? Do I get new shoes?"

Again, silence.

"I mean..." she rambled on, pacing around their cramped cell. "I could understand if Thrall doesn't come. What's one person's life? One person who's been loyal and followed his mandates to the letter, who's probably one of the only daggone guild leader who actually says... 'DO WHAT THRALL SAYS.' And yet, here I am! I'm the one being punished for my loyalty! Isn't that great? Couldn't you just die??"

"I might die from your damned whining," her roommate grunted, turning his eyes to glance at her. "Sit down and shut up."

Vilmah furrowed her brow, "I will not shut up! I've just had the worst trial in he hiwstory of trials, I've been condemned for a crime I didn't commit, and the entire Horde is gonna have a field day with my reputation and the fact that I've been labeled a 'traitor'!"

"We are all traitors here," he grumbled, scratching his muzzle. "You had best get used to the title, and ready yourself for the gladiatorial battles ahead. They usually do not look favorably upon runty females with big mouths."

"Yeah, well, I've faced worse odds..." she grunted, finally sitting down. "Besides, it's not like they're actually gonna kill me, right?"

Silence again.

"Well crap."

"Do not waste your thoughts with mercy, because they will not return the favor," he grunted. "Many of the other prisoners are traitors, and not the type that lament over their wrongful accusations. They are condemned murderers who will not think twice to split open your skull for a small ammount of glory. That glory helps them to live a bit longer. Your survival is at stake here, not your reputation."

Vilmah rubbed her nose. "If you knew who I was, you'd understand. It's not as simple as just 'kill or be killed' for me. People's lives are at stake, besides my own. I can't let them down."

"Well, be prepared to die then. Should the Earthmother embrace your corpse, I'm certain those you protect will be well off. Right?"

This time, she was the one who answered with silence. Turning to regard him, she spoke slightly quieter. "Who are you?"

"My name is not important," he replied. Despite his gruff exterior, Vilmah had to admit that he was certainly one of the most attractive tauren she'd ever seen. His fur was pristinely white, with no spots or missing chunks. His eyes were a pale green that she had never seen in a tauren before, and despite their terrible living conditions, he seemed very clean and well kept. "I am a traitor to the Horde, and unlike you, I admit to my crimes openly. They keep me here because I am good to watch, but there will come a day soon when someone kills me. Then I will be free, at last."

She blinked. "Couldn't you just... turn into a bird? And fly away?"

He gave a morbid chuckle. "Clearly you know nothing of my kind. Rest, orc. You will need it for tomorrow. They will drag you to the arena and have you fight with the worst weapons they can find, against the most convenient criminal that they have. If you kill him, you will live. If not, well... I get my cell to myself again."

Hugging her knees to her chest, Vilmah mulled over his words. What sort of criminal would they put her up against, she wondered? Someone as innocent as she, or someone with nothing to lose. Shaking her head, she decided that it didn't matter. She had to win, whatever the cost.

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Orgrimaar is a little intimidating when you’re three feet tall. There was plenty of money to be made for the ingenious goblin but some days it got really dicey and a goblin really had to examine the risk vs reward aspect of their chosen profession.

Gruben was about five minutes away from just such a moment of introspective insight which would ultimately result in his really wishing he’d been a farmer instead of a spy.

It was, at it’s purest, a work of art really. Gruben knew a thing or two about weapons and the sleek design of the fist-load; its decorative blade and the way the magic pulsed visibly from it’s edges, everything about it quietly announced it’s lethality. Gruben felt he probably would have appreciated it more if the orc holding it wasn’t doing so under his chin.

“I swears it…” he whispered hurriedly, hands clawing at the wall behind him, hoping to inch a little higher.

“They took her in chains to the dungeons.”

His gaze followed the length of the weapon to the thick armoured hands that slid into their grips. He followed the arm that led to the massive spiked shoulder plates, the spikes adorned with skulls. There, between the spikes, the scowling orc visage stared at him from behind elaborate goggles that whirred and hissed. The high grade goggles terrified him the most which, considering the tabbard he wore, was saying something. Those were the kind of goggles that required constant adjusting and maintenance, goggles only really worn by someone capable of making and maintaining them. Goggles crafted by a master engineer such as this orc no doubt was.

Goblins are as a matter of simple fact, far smaller than their much thicker orcish cousins. Nature was not entirely unkind however and made the goblin a remarkably crafty creature. The Goblins had always used their intellectual advantage when dealing with orcs. Those goggles, by their mere presence, grabbed certain traditional advantages Gruben might have possessed and did vile and unspeakable things to them.

“She admitted to being a traitor!” Gruben supplied still trying to escape the wrong end of Bloodscreams weapon. “She’s gunna get killed in the pits and it’ll be over!” he added quickly anticipating why the orc cared.

The orc had this strange expression on his face but his weapon remained in place pinning the goblin to the wall. Gruben’s mind raced frantically as he tried to figure out how to get him to lower the weapon. Gruben went with a gentle steady slow nudging while making whiny “ahhh” noises. The large orc, apparently deep in thought, mostly ignored the goblin, allowing him to lower the blade enough to slip quietly to the side.

Everyone knew there was no love lost between The Grim and Sanctuary.

The orc’s vision focused on the goblin with a whir and a click. Gruben swallowed hard, fearing the return of the blade at his throat.

“Who sentenced her?” the green mountain hissed through clenched teeth.

“N..N..New guy…Blackfist.” Gruben supplied quickly.

“New guy uh?” Bloodscream snorted.

“I’ze guess I’ze needs to be payin him a social den hm?”

“Lockin V up…I’ze gunna thumpim.” The mountain mumbled to itself as it started to lumber towards the alleys mouth.

“Wait…you like her?” Gruben blurted startled.

Bloodscream spun, the slits on his goggles narrowed and the left one collapsed into a targeting reticle that beeped at him. Gruben soiled himself a little.

“I mean…of course you like her!”

Bloodscream took a step back into the alley.

“I mean NO! No no! I mean… what do I mean? Whatever it is you want me to mean, that’s what I mean…I mean it!”

The orc stopped just out of arms reach.

“Alright Gruben, how much to make sure ya keep yer trap shut about dis?” Bloodscream asked.

The goblin blinked. “Errrr… heyyyy I’m not out to gouge anyone here… say? An easy hundred?

The orc nodded and Gruben was speechless at his amazing turn around.

“I mean I can certainly appreciate the value of a secret…I could see how rumours of this kind might dampen your guilds reputation as hardasses and hey, maybe they don’t even know yer friends with…” There was something altogether wrong with the orcs smile.

“You pick up fast little Gobbo…maybe a little too fast hm?” the orcs words were cold and spilling over with menace.

“Y..Ya but…ya but…” he babbled taking a few steps back away from the advancing orc.

“Yabut yabut indeed…” the orc replied. “ Quite an unfortunate conundrum…See as soon as you offered a price you were screwed. If there’s a price for your silence then there’s a price to break it. You really should have dodged when I mentioned money but you walked right into it like a typical greedy goblin.”

Gruben’s eye widened a little more as he retreated further into the shadows at the back of the alley.

“Hey you’re talking different… you’re a lot smarter than you lead on.” He accused weakly, taking another step backwards.

“Thought the goggles gave me away...Like I said… you pick up fast, just missed the big one…and that’s gunna cost ya I’m afraid.”

“Don’t touch me!” the goblin cried as he leapt backwards towards the far wall.

“Thought never crossed my mind.” The orc whispered with a grin as a clawed skeletal hand came from the shadows behind the goblin and covered his mouth as his eyes went wide to the wet sucking sound of a dagger plunging into his vitals. He felt the chill of the paralyzing poison, the hot putrid breath of the forsaken creature, teeth sharpened to points that dragged him, unable to scream, into the darkness.

Bloodscream slowly turned.

“Good boy.” He said softly to the darkness.

“Leave nothing but boots, I don’t want to see him again.” He whispered as he walked back towards the street.

There was an incoherent mumbled reply from the shadows, the creatures mouth obviously full of something it chewed as it mumbled.

“Good boy.” Bloodscream repeated as he turned the corner and left the alley.

He walked with purpose towards the halls of Justice.

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By the time Vilmah awoke the next morning, the holding cells were a buzz with conversation. It seemed that she wouldn't be the only one competing that day; she could see from her position in the hall that several of the others were talking to their cell mates, giving encouraging words and roughly slapping their shoulders. More often than not, one would glare across the hall at the other, as if telling one another that there would be no mercy in the ring. Looking towards her own cell mate, Vilmah bit her lips and sighed heavily. There would be no encouraging words from that one, so it would be up to her to encourage.

She thought back to her friends. Broxigan knew that she would live, and despite the odds, his confidence kept her focused. Sanctuary as a whole could easily survive without her, but Vilmah understood her significance to Rosette and her friends. If there was anyone in the world who cared about her survival, it was them, and the thought of someone having to explain to Rosette that Vivi had died in an effort to make the world a better place, for her own survival, broke Vilmah's heart.

I can handle this, she thought to herself, standing up and stretching her limbs. It had been a long time since Vilmah had done any close-quarters combat, and since most of her fighting recently had utilized her as a vanguard, the idea of being up close and personal with someone was mildly frightening. I've done it before. That's how I became a warrior. That's how I survived. I did it once, I can do it again.

A sudden jingling of keys grabbed her attention, as a familiar duo made their way to her cell. Tao and Bolver, both heavily armored in leather, opened Vilmah's cell and grabbed a hold of the shackles connecting her wrists. Without giving her the chance to follow freely, they tugged her along, pushing her to join a group of prisoners as they stood in two lines, side by side. More guards in leather armor stood watching, large glaves in their hands as Bolver and Tao fastened long chains to each of their shackles. Once each was connected to the other, with Vilmah and a tall scrawny-looking tauren in the back, Bolver hit them both in the backs of their knees with glave and grunted, "Move forward."

Jumping once, Vilmah and the troll did as he ordered. The other lines walked as well, and soon they left the holding cells to walk through the Ring of Valor as Vilmah remembered it. A loud humming filled her ears as they marched, which led her to believe that their must have been a lot of people occupying the arena. Several goblins rushed past their group, writing down notes in tiny notebooks as they muttered to one another. Vilmah gave them a passing glance before her group was ushered through a heavy gate.

Once through the gate, she took note of their surroundings. They were in a dark corridor, with various chains and weapons hanging from the walls. Tao and Bolver quickly went to work, hooking their chains to the walls so that they could not move. As her arms rose into the air, pinned helplessly, Vilmah watched as the first of them were unshackled and brought to the front. Bolver handed each of them a weapon; for the first, a tauren, he gave a large sword. For the second, a dwarf, he handed an axe. The two sized each other up, but made no move to attack. Once sufficiently armed, Tao pushed them with the dull end of his glave towards a pair of large wooden doors.

"Alrigh', boys," he said with a grin. "Time ta meetcha audience."

As the doors flung wide open, the bright light of the sun blinded Vilmah's eyes. She squinted just enough to peer outside, and saw more people in the stands than she had ever seen in her life, all cheering for the deaths that would be presented to them.

At that moment, Vilmah prayed.

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((I reall wanna suggest Frieya be Vil's opponent..for..some reason, but I'm liking this..seems like every one who is showing mercy is getting punished for ti these days.))

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"I want to talk to Thrall." Amoola repeated for the second time. As she shifted her position the surrounding torch like reflected off of her battle armor into the eyes of the two guards.

"Not happening." The guard repeated his eyes not moving from the forward potion.

"Look we know why you are here." the other guard spoke up as he made a jab at her chest his eyes meeting hers. "It's plain as the cloth you wear. He's not seeing anyone with out a previous appointment."

"Then direct me to who makes his appointments." her voice wavered with frustration.

"Wouldn't know who that was. Go home." The guard turn his eyes away, resuming his straight forward stare.

"I will speak to someone before I leave." She could feel her fists clenching as she fought to stay calm.

"Just go home." The other guard repeated.

"At least tell me when the trial will be. I am sure you would have heard rumor of that." he ears flicked a fly away.

"Already done." The second guard answered flatly.

"What!" She could hear the momentary stillness behind her at the outburst. "What do you mean already done?" She hissed.

"You heard him." chimed in the first. "It's already done. She's in the pit for it." A small smile crossed his lips before fading again.

She could feel her thoughts racing.

Child do not do anything rash, it will not help. the familiar voice slipped into her thoughts.

"Just go home already." the second guard said again.

"No!" she firmly said aloud to both voices as she sat down in the entrance to the hallway. "I will not be moved until I have seen someone."

"We will have you arrested!" The first guard hissed dangerously turning towards her with a hand on his weapon.

"Have I raised a weapon on you?" he paused for a moment. "Am I even touching mine?" He both guards blinked at her. "I am breaking no law. If this is the only way for Thrall to come and go then he will see me. Although I am sure that he has other means." With that she fell silent.

"Now what are we going to do with her?" the second guard sighed.

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The roar of the crowd outside proved to Vilmah that her worst fears were fairly accurate; the Horde housed a plethora of bloodthirsty savages. It was obvious that by their volume, the crowd was enjoying the spectacle of two people fighting to the death, even as screams of pain echoed throughout the arena. As the first scream reached her ears, that of the tauren who had gone first, Vilmah winced. She knew that scream. It was the final sound he would make, that last cry of anguish as life left his body and the Earthmother welcomed him to her embrace. If he believed in such things, anyway.

Because she was, in fact, rather ridiculous (as far as orcs go), Vilmah prayed to her own god. The Lamb, Khordero, did not answer her prayers. However, she was reassured by the knowledge of his existence that even if she did not live, she would be welcome in the afterlife by those who died in the name of honor and bravery. Glancing at the troll by her side, she wondered if he was praying to his loa. She understood that they would fight each other, and that whether she should acknowledge it or not, she had already made her decision. He would not live.

As the doors opened, signaling the end of the first match, Vilmah watched as the dwarf who had accompanied the tauren outside walked back into the pit. He was heavily bloodied, and a gasp shot out of Vilmah’s mouth when she realized that his left forearm had been left as a bloody stump. It bled in thick globs, running dripping to the dirt ground and caking it like mud to his boots. Grunting, his teeth clenched, the dwarf made no move to fight back as Tao re-shackled him to the wall, and Bolver bound his wrist. There didn’t seem to be any movements made to regenerate the limb. Vilmah supposed that this was in conjunction with their punishment.

“Don’ look ta good, do ‘e?” Came a light voice, beside her. The troll Vilmah would be facing had looked up to regard her, a calm acceptance in his face. “Ah t’ink dat dwarf gonna die, in ‘is next fight. One a’m gone, ‘e don’ stand no chance.”

Small talk?? Vilmah thought to herself, looking at his face. The troll seemed no older than she was, and certainly just as scrawny. “I… uh, yeah.”

He returned her unease with a toothy grin. “Don’ be shy,” he chuckled. “We goin’ ta put on a good show, ya? Ya goin’ ta preten’ ta kill me, an’ den, ah slip away? Ah’m a rogue, ah can do dat. Ah kno’ ya me’ciful. Ya wou’dna kill me, righ’?”

Vilmah sighed with relief, speaking in a whisper. “Of course not. It’s a deal. Just make sure it looks real, okay?”

With a wide smile, the troll nodded. The fighting continued, outside.

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The screaming from the pits ruined a perfectly good plan to go thump Blackfist, there was no time.

The guards stood side by side at the entrance to the Arena.

This was not the spectators entrance.

Bloodscream walked with a heavy gate, an angry step.

He had noticed that since hanging up his shield and taking up twin blades, the new rhythm changed him. He was less patient with mundane matters, it was as though at all times, he’d rather be elsewhere, fighting.

He walked with confidence by the guards who didn’t react until he was three steps past them.

“Hey!” the orc called.

“Halt!” echoed the Tauren.

Bloodscream paused, hesitated a moment to give the impression he was annoyed. Fact was, he was annoyed.

“Wut?” he called out over his shoulder, turning his head only part way towards the guards.

“Err… you can’t go in deyr.” The orc guard informed him.

“Dat so?” Bloodscream replied.

“Off limits.” Threw in the Tauren.

Bloodscream turned completely around, smiling forcibly.

“Boyz…” he said through his grin.

“I’ze juss wanna watchinum fights…”

“So git a ticket upstairs…” the orc grunted.

Bloodscream slowly reached up and lifted the goggles from his eyes, letting rest on his forehead.

“Ya dat’s not such a gud idea fer meze sometimes I’ze git carried away… iz best for everyone if I’ze watch quietly from the ground floor behind a grate… I won’t be no botha…”

The guards eyed the Grim. Every item on him whispered of the dark places it had been obtained. When the guards made it to his face, he was smiling genially.

“Boyz…” he repeated.

“I’ze having a gud day… now I’ze gunna watchinum little bloodsport… quit bustin my balls…”

“But da tickets is 5 silver you gotta have a … “

Bloodscream pointed up towards his left shoulder and there, skewered on one of the spikes, among the skulls, was a ticket.

The orc guard just sort of stared at it.

Bloodscream reached into his purse and grabbed a handful of gold coins.

“A’ight…” he said counting out ten coins.

“Five gold a pop and ya quit bustin my balls, I ain’t askin ta go sit in Thralls chair and now you keeping me from da fights an I kin EAR da fights…and I’m about ready to say fuck it and start a brawl right here just for shits an giggles…so wuts it gunna be boyz?”

The Tauren and the orc exchanged glances ever so briefly.

The Tauren reached out and swallowed the coins whole in his massive hand.

“Enjoy the fights Mister Grim.”

Bloodscream turned and walked down the dark tunnel at once, wasting no more time. He navigated the maze beneath the arena with a practiced step. Walking by several holding pens where the sentenced awaited justice. He didn’t see her anywhere. That meant she was on deck, the term used for the holding pen right next to the fighters entrance.

Bloodscream knew where that was. He moved though the halls, shoving anyone stupid enough to get in his way, out of it. He walked into the inner ring and then along it, eyeing the pens closest to the pit. He glanced into the pit as he passed one of the entrances and he did not see her fighting outside.

He walked by the last pen and there; partially hidden behind a troll, looking a miserable sight, sat Vilmah Bloodborne, shackled.

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"I am the Lady Knight-Ranger Saphiara Sunspell-Solarius, and I have been assigned to represent Regent Lor'Themar Theron as the observer of the execution of the traitor to the Horde, Vilmah Bloodborne." She reached underneath her cloak and showed the guards her diplomatic papers.

"Dat's all good, lady elfie, buh ain't no weapons 'llowed in th' stands. I take good care 'a dem fer ya." The guard eagerly reached out for the bow she held in her hand, then howled as the much smaller woman grabbed his wrist and twisted it painfully.

"I am already forced to suffer the stink of Orgrimmar's unwashed masses to attend this event. I refuse to do so unarmed, in the case they decide to get as 'hands on' as you just attempted now. Or should I bring my complaints to Warchief Thrall himself, hmm?" Saphiara gave the guard her best aristocratic glower of contempt, and he seemed to shrink back despite his overwhelming size advantage. The power of confidence.

"Nah, Lady elfie, na needin' ta get T'rall 'volved, right? Ya gowan in." The guard stepped aside, and Saphiara stomped her way past him, pulling her hood over her head as she did so.

The arena was immense, and packed with the 'unwashed masses' she had decried just a few moments ago. Looking up the stands, she spotted an area near the roof where there were no benches. She made her way in that direction, trying her best not to be too out of place - as difficult as that was. She reached her chosen perch and nodded in satisfaction as she scanned the arena floor; it offered an unobstructed view of every corner.

Saphiara tucked herself into the shadows between the wall and roof and waited. She had reached the end of her plan. The rest would be improvisation.

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"Sista, dis not be where ya needin ta be." The thick voice whispered almost soothingly. "What dese two thick eads be sayin, be true." There was a pause.

Amoola turned to face the voice, finding a male troll garbed as a fellow shaman.

"Dere be plenty ah whisperin bout ja." He smiled sadly as he waved a hand dismissively in a way she had seen other trolls do when referring to spirits. "Dis not where ja wanting ta be. Trus me."

"What is this pit? They mentioned?" Her muzzle brushed the rounded edges of the trolls long tusks as she leaned forward trying to read his eyes.

"Simple ansa, sista. Da arena. Dey be startin."

She stood, gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder then barreled through the crowded room.

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Kethry's felguard growled at the man in front of her.

"Ey dere demon callah! Dah tickets be upsairs, eh?" the guard spat in the dirt near Kethry's feet and her lower lip curled in contempt.

"Shut up." was all she said before shoving one of said tickets in his face; and entering the arena. Sanctuary were a bunch of traitors; but Vilmah was young and foolish about the ways of the Alliance.

They might not be Grim yet; but someday; they will be...

Kethry watched as they dragged Vilmah and the skinniest troll she had ever seen into the arena.

Once Vilmah stopped playing hero; and saw the world for what it was...She would make a damned fine Grim; indeed.


She watched. And waited.

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"It's good. I guess. I mean, okay, it's a bit stale and could use some salt. But overall, it's good!" the goblin nut vendor stared with yellow-rimmed eyes at Cabriel as the elf stammered out a half-formed complaint. "You know what? Nevermind. Your nuts are delicious. Enjoy your day!"

The goblin clicked his tongue and turned his knobby head to serve a group of trolls, and Cabriel tossed a few coppers onto the warped countertop.

He watched as Abanip, his diminuitive form shimmering half-in, half-out of this plane, ducked and twisted around legs and hooves in the expansive crowd. Cabriel was careful to keep his voice low, as he knew that most couldn't see the imp and he didn't want to look crazy.

"Look, I'm not exactly thrilled, either, but look at the bright side! This is a totally new experience for us! Gladiator combat!" He swerved to avoid being gored by a thick pair of horns swinging through the throng.

"The new variation on the elixir should be ready for testing in a few hours. It's important it's allowed to stay perfectly still so the components don't separate. No one's at the guild hall, so this little day trip serves a dual purpose -- no one will fuss with our work, and we can experience the city!"

The meat-scented dust of Orgrimmar sucked up into his nostrils. Hacking, Cabriel wove his way to his seat, which was less a seat than a long and weather-beaten bench. The warlock sidled next to a troll with a thousand colored beads in her hair. She turned to observe Cabriel, and the air filled with clacks and tinkles.

He smiled uncomfortably. "Well. I love your hair! It's a feast for both the eyes AND the ears!" A nervous laugh escaped his lips. Abanip leapt up into the warlock's lap. Cabriel handed him a smoked nut, which the demon tasted and spat over the heads in the stands before him.

"Very rude, Abanip. Behave."

The fight below had come to a rather abrupt close, as Cabriel noted a dwarf nursing a severed limb leaving the arena. Waves of arms, horns, tusks, and skeletal hands undulated along the arena's steep walls. The air was smoky and hot. Durotar hot. Cabriel choked down another bland cashew and squinted his eyes.

"Gladiator combat. This should be new."

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Having made a verbal agreement with the troll by her side, Vilmah felt somewhat relieved. She paid little mind at the next fight, between a night elf and a blood elf, despite the daggers they stared at one another before being ushered outside weaponless. She felt grateful that at the very least, she wouldn't have to kill someone in her first fight, and if he really could manage to get away than she would be encouraged by the good deed.

Good deed.

Glancing around, she wondered what sort of people she had been lumped in with. The troll beside her was friendly enough, but just how friendly was he really to have ended up here? He seemed young. She would have asked, but another scream silenced her. Walking back inside from his time in the ring, a night elf with ragged white hair slumped through the double doors and collapsed on to his stomach. He breathed a shaky sigh, and although he was likely unconscious Tao and Bolver locked him with the others anyway.

Gathering the courage to study her surroundings further, Vilmah watched as two orcs drug allong the corpses of the ring's previous battles; a tauren and a blood elf. Both of them were caked with blood and sand, the blood elf's face crushed in half to expose the gooey pink and white brain matter beneath. It might have disgusted her, but luckily something else provided a good distraction.

"Bloodsc--" She stopped herself before she could say his name, noticing that the other combatants had turned their attention towards the huge warrior. Light shone off of his bald head, Vilmah's first indication that he really was standing near her.

The Grim had a strange effect on her. Their mandate aside, they were honest in their ways. Never sneaky, or foolhardy, or fake. Bloodscream was a good example of the sort of trust that she put in them, but in light of the fact that the rest of his kind would rather see her dead in the middle of the ring, she knew that he didn't. At the very least, he expected a good fight out of her. At the most, he wanted her to surprise him. It was encouraging. The rest of Sanctuary might have depended on her heart and mind, and Broxigan might have encouraged her to live and fight, but Bloodscream awoke a whole new instinct within her; the inborn need to prove herself.

Raising herself from the ground, she looked at Bloodscream defiantly. Anyone who didn't know of their connection might have seen anger in her face, but she knew that he would know differently. She knew that he would understand.

"Last ones up," Bolver growled, grabbing Vilmah and the scrawny troll at her side by the wrists. He undid their shackles with one of his many heavy keys, and pushed them both towards the arena doors.

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Silently, the orc stood upon one of the higher tiers, near the highest seating, leaning against the stone wall; the nose bleed section. Bared feet stood upon the chiseled stone, toes lightly drumming in anticipation, or so it would seem. His head was lowered, eyes closed, leathers pulled close around his body. Silently, he shook his head, his arms crossed over his chest. Nuzzled next to his neck sat Vee, glimmering eyes watching the pit below quietly.

His stomached twisted and turned as he heard the cheers and excitement from the crowd as the fights went on. 'Mindless, senseless violence,' he thought to himself.

People stomped and screamed and acted almost like animals, as far as Brox was concerned. He slid one foot along the stone, frowning quietly to himself as Vilmah was brought out towards the center of the pit.

He was lucky to have managed access down to the prison the day before to speak with her. All he could hope for was that his words did something for Vilmah.

One arm dropped down to his side, thick fingers bushing over the totems that lined his belt. "She will be fine, right?" he asked quietly as his thumb brushed over the etchings of the earthen totem.

There was no point fighting what had happened. It was bound to happen to them all, Sanctuary, at some point or another. An oath to stand up for what is right, even in the darkest of times, even when no others will listen. Peace will fall upon the world one day and it was people like Vilmah and the others that would help break the border of Horde and Alliance.

Fate and Balance work in the most mysterious of ways. People end up where they are meant to for a reason, even if none see it. And Brox accepted the fact of what was happening. His heart ached at his not doing anything, but his mind knew nothing good would come out of throwing off the Balance.

So, he stood there, among the highest of tiers, listening, 'watching', waiting.

Upon the ground next to him sat a small basket full of fruits and a thin strap of leather with a carved wooden wolf tied upon it. A small note, written in crayon was tied upon the handle of the basket.

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Bloodscream and Vilmah locked stares.

Bloodscream did some quick math. Two guards in this room, at least four more no more than ten fifteen seconds away.

The way she was looking at him though. She didn't want him to save her. He knew that look, she had something to prove.

He snorted at her, challenging her stare.

She grinned, that little grin she did at times and in spite of himself, Bloodscream smiled.

He spoke slowly, menacingly, clearly he hated this orc.

"I'ze be right ere." He said, insinuating she would have to deal with him again should she survive her coming battle. Her guards chuckled.

"..right...ere." He said again, almost snarling, pointing to the spot on the floor where he would stand to watch.

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With her helmet under one arm Amoola pushed her way through the crowded stands trying to ignore the dead Tauren being dragged out of the ring.

"May the Earthmother hold you close brother." She muttered with her eyes firmly locked on the filthy floor in front of her.

"Hey!" She bellowed feeling something hit her in the head. Her hand shot to where she had been hit only to find something lodged in her braids. Removing it she discovered with a quick glimpse that it looked to be a half chewed nut. She tried not to cringe at the sticky green coating that had been shared with part of her hair and the fingers holding it. Looking around she could see a familiar elven figure lecturing his imp.

"Cabriel. I do believe this is your's." she said holding the half chewed nut out to him as she moved into a position between him and the female Troll next to him.

"Pardon me sister." She said with a polite nod before nudging the elf and troll a little further apart to make enough room for her to sit.

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Cabriel smiled. Amoola always brought a sense of calm to a situation. This place was anything but calm.

Below them, a blood elf's shout was cut short with a wet gurgle as his head caved in. Cabriel winced and looked away. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea...but the shopping in Orgrimmar was disgraceful.

Below the din of the stadium, he said, "Thank the gods you're here. This is, uh...more than I expected. Nut?"

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"No thank you." She politely waved the bag of nuts away.

Once the crowd settled down she took a deep breath in an attempt to stay calm.

"Has Vilmah been out in the pit yet?" She kept her face forward. "Please tell me that you haven't seen her out there."

She quietly took up fastening and unfastening a pouch at her hip trying not to cringe at the final twitches from the Blood elf on the pit floor.

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