The flame within a fireplace, burning away the carcass of wood or charcoal within the handmade hollow chute of stone. Fire conjured in his hands as his storm stained eyes peered within the visions that lingered in the endless shift and shape of the flames, always something new and yet, something old and refreshing.
A Respite. It always calmed him as the flames lingered across his hands from touching the fire from the link of fire or even the ones found within the fireplace. It was comforting as the warmest of bathes for the men, women and children of the world. He could take on the world from the feeling of the flames, the endless power, and the devastating destruction it could bring!
With tonight’s events… He wished for all of it.
The showdown at the barrier, House Firaval bringing forth the news of the fall of Winters, the Queen of Wolves. The Black General. The Heart Thief. The hostility presented by the scions could’ve been tempered and Garog did nothing, but fan the fires burning inside. A challenge of his honor by the raven-haired woman, the rather bold statement from the Lord of the House directed toward him and the aura surrounding them, the body language and the tone of voice. The thunder rolling across the mountaintops and clashing with the crash of fortius earth.
Winters. Working under that woman… He grew fond of the woman and couldn’t say he had the most personal and helpful dealing directly with her, but a soldier does what the General commands and she brought exactly what the Orc craved.
Purpose.
Leadership, the men and women who brought forth the foundation of the morale and unification of their people together to forge stronger bonds than that of Iron and Fire. Elders, chieftains, warchiefs, kings, commanders, lords, and ladies. All would find that their footsteps carves the path for others to follow and the blood spilt to earn the sacrifice of their people.
Every drop of blood in his vein and even inch of flesh and bone, the orc was a soldier at heart. A shaman of the elements, a pyremaster for the flames and dead, a medic for the wounded and lost, and a soldier to those who used the orc.
She. Is. His. General.
Yet, even the greatest will fall and the morale will shatter. Old Habits die hard for the Orc, old loyalties and affection for his previous superiors.
The babble of the room surrounded him as he focused on the fire, seeking comfort and power from it. To keep his head mellow and ready for the coming tide of fury, it boiled in his veins and the conversation of his fellow scions fanned the flames even more. Flames would feed off of whatever fuel you gave them, and with the elements of fire, even the emotion of one’s spirit and body could bring out the explosive force of the Volcano.
“I say screw what they think. They got us fighting multiple wars now... WITH THE LEGION OUT THERE!” Brimming with rage for a hot-tempered death knight, Neri Bloodstrike matched even his own anger in this moment.
“Neri, go to the Shore and take out your aggression on some demons, dear.” The Elf of Light, a fond moment between the shaman and paladin. Ailos Lightsworn brought the peace of the conversation into the heart of it, giving the agitated deathknight a moment to think of her choices of action.
“... The Legion cares nothing for honor, Neri.” His voice that of gravel and rocks, eyes turning for a moment to take notice of the living beings around him, he wished to be trapped in his own thoughts for this moment, keeping the blood fury locked away in his being is the teaching of all Frostwolf Orcs, to tame the beast and flames within.
“I, however, do. Legion or not, the pack and clan must be saved from the threats on the inside before we can focus on the outside threat.”
The conversation around him went silent for the golden moment, devolving into a topic he cared little for. Focus captivated by the dancing flames of the fireplace as he tumbled the ideas and course of action within his mind.
He will not believe the death of Winters until he sees her cold, lifeless being. He deserves to the know the fate of the Black General.
Even then, does he even want to find out? Is it worth shattering the compassion left inside for his comrades?
The booming thunder of the crashing mountain, the flicker of a flame losing more of its fuel. Soon it could perish and be snuffed out with a single puff of a word.
