had been fruitful and happy years for Thrall’s master, and for humanity in general. Aedelas Blackmoore, once Lieutenant, now Lieutenant General , had been mocked about his “pet orc” when he had first brought it to Durnholde, especially when it seemed as though the wretched little thing wouldn’t even survive. Thank goodness for Mistress Foxton and her swollen teats. Blackmoore couldn’t conceive of any human female being willing to suckle an orc, but although the offer had increased his contempt for his servant and his family, it had also saved Blackmoore’s behind. Whichwas why he hadn’t begrudged them baubles, food, and education for their child, even if she was a girl.
It was a bright day, warm but not too hot. Perfect fighting weather. The awning, bright with his colors of red and gold, provided pleasant shade. Banners of all colors danced in the gentle breeze, and music and laughter floated to his ears. The smell of ripe fruits, fresh bread, and roasted venison teased his nostrils. Everyone here was in a good mood. After the battles, some wouldn’t be in such good moods, but right now, all were happy and filled with anticipation.
Lying on a chaise beside him was his young protégé, Lord Karramyn Langston. Langston had rich brown hair that matched his dark eyes, a strong, fit body, and a lazy smile. He was also completely devoted to Blackmoore, and was the one human being Blackmoore had told of his ultimate plans. Though many years his junior, Langston shared many of Blackmoore’s ideals and lack of scruples. They were a good pair. Langston had fallen asleep in the warm sunshine, and snored softly.
Blackmoore reached over and snagged another bite of roasted fowl and a goblet of red wine, red as the blood that would soon be spilled in the arena, to wash it down with. Life was good, and with every challenge Thrall met and passed, life got even better. After each match, Blackmoore left with a heavy purse. His “pet orc,” once the joke of the fortress, was now his pride.
Of course, most of the others that Thrall went up against were nothing more than humans. Some of themeanest, strongest, most cunning humans to be sure, but human nonetheless. The other gladiators were all brutal, hardened convicts hoping to earn their way out of prison by winning money and fame for their patrons. Some did, and earned their freedom. Most found themselves in just another jail, one with tapestries on the wall and women in their beds, but it was a prison nonetheless. Few patrons wanted to see their money-winners walk as free men.
But some of Thrall’s adversaries weren’t human, and that was when things got exciting.
It didn’t hurt Blackmoore’s ambitions at all that the orcs were now a defeated, downtrodden rabble rather than the awesome and fear-inspiring fighting force they had once been. The war was long over, and humans had won the decisive victory. Now the enemy was led into special internment camps almost as easily as cattle into stalls at the end of a day spent grazing. Camps, Blackmoore mused pleasantly, that he was completely in charge of.
At first, his plan was to raise the orc to be a well-educated, loyal slave and a peerless warrior. He would send Thrall to defeat his own people, if “people” was even the proper term for such mindless green thugs, and once they had been defeated, use the broken clans to his, Blackmoore’s, own purpose.
But the Horde had been defeated by the Alliance without Thrall having even tasted battle. At first, Blackmoore had been sour about this. But then anotherthought came to him on how he could use his pet orc. It required patience, something Blackmoore had only in short supply, but the rewards would be far greater than he could have imagined. Infighting was already rampant among the Alliance. Elf sneered at human, human mocked dwarf, and dwarf mistrusted elf. A nice little triangle of bigotry and suspicion.
He raised himself from his chair long enough to observe Thrall
It was a bright day, warm but not too hot. Perfect fighting weather. The awning, bright with his colors of red and gold, provided pleasant shade. Banners of all colors danced in the gentle breeze, and music and laughter floated to his ears. The smell of ripe fruits, fresh bread, and roasted venison teased his nostrils. Everyone here was in a good mood. After the battles, some wouldn’t be in such good moods, but right now, all were happy and filled with anticipation.
Lying on a chaise beside him was his young protégé, Lord Karramyn Langston. Langston had rich brown hair that matched his dark eyes, a strong, fit body, and a lazy smile. He was also completely devoted to Blackmoore, and was the one human being Blackmoore had told of his ultimate plans. Though many years his junior, Langston shared many of Blackmoore’s ideals and lack of scruples. They were a good pair. Langston had fallen asleep in the warm sunshine, and snored softly.
Blackmoore reached over and snagged another bite of roasted fowl and a goblet of red wine, red as the blood that would soon be spilled in the arena, to wash it down with. Life was good, and with every challenge Thrall met and passed, life got even better. After each match, Blackmoore left with a heavy purse. His “pet orc,” once the joke of the fortress, was now his pride.
Of course, most of the others that Thrall went up against were nothing more than humans. Some of themeanest, strongest, most cunning humans to be sure, but human nonetheless. The other gladiators were all brutal, hardened convicts hoping to earn their way out of prison by winning money and fame for their patrons. Some did, and earned their freedom. Most found themselves in just another jail, one with tapestries on the wall and women in their beds, but it was a prison nonetheless. Few patrons wanted to see their money-winners walk as free men.
But some of Thrall’s adversaries weren’t human, and that was when things got exciting.
It didn’t hurt Blackmoore’s ambitions at all that the orcs were now a defeated, downtrodden rabble rather than the awesome and fear-inspiring fighting force they had once been. The war was long over, and humans had won the decisive victory. Now the enemy was led into special internment camps almost as easily as cattle into stalls at the end of a day spent grazing. Camps, Blackmoore mused pleasantly, that he was completely in charge of.
At first, his plan was to raise the orc to be a well-educated, loyal slave and a peerless warrior. He would send Thrall to defeat his own people, if “people” was even the proper term for such mindless green thugs, and once they had been defeated, use the broken clans to his, Blackmoore’s, own purpose.
But the Horde had been defeated by the Alliance without Thrall having even tasted battle. At first, Blackmoore had been sour about this. But then anotherthought came to him on how he could use his pet orc. It required patience, something Blackmoore had only in short supply, but the rewards would be far greater than he could have imagined. Infighting was already rampant among the Alliance. Elf sneered at human, human mocked dwarf, and dwarf mistrusted elf. A nice little triangle of bigotry and suspicion.
He raised himself from his chair long enough to observe Thrall
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