Durotan started. The bitter cry had sprung from the
throat not of some short-tempered warrior in the crowd,
but from the orc who stood beside him. Drek’Thar's eyes
were wide and his body trembled with outrage. Veins
stood out on his neck and he shook his fist at Velen.
Durotan was so shocked by the outburst that he did not silence it as quickly as he should have, and Drek’Thar continued.
"Oshu'gun belongs to us! It is the home of the beloved
dead, cradler of their spirits, and your hideous cloven feet
are not fit to take one step up its blessed sides!"
Velen, too, seemed surprised at the outburst. He
turned his attention to the shaman and stretched out a
hand imploringly.
"Your sprits are housed within these walls, it is true,
and I would never say it was not so." Velen cried. "But
they are drawn there because of this being. It seeks to—"
It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Drek’Thar
bellowed in outrage. Other cries went up, and before
Durotan realized quite what was happening, he saw his
warriors surge forward. Draka moved toward them,
trying to stop the attack, but she might as well have been trying to hold back the incoming tide. Durotan spun and struck Drek’Thar hard across the face. The shaman whirled, snarling. "Protect them!" Durotan cried. "You will obey my orders, and we must take them alive.
Protect them, curse you!"
Drek’Thar's eyes flashed in fury, but only for an instant. He lifted his hands and closed his eyes, and suddenly a huge circle of flame sprang up around the five draenei. A wind sprang up, whipping the fire even higher
and physically buffeting the orcs. The warriors stepped
back, and to Durotan's horror some of the archers began
nocking arrows on their bowstrings.
"Hold!" bellowed Durotan, the wind taking his order and bearing it to his warriors' cars. "I will slay anyone who fires!"
Between his command and Drek’Thar's powerful, if
reluctant, abilities, the draenei were unharmed. Durotan
raced down the mountainside to his prisoners, for such
they now were. Drek’Thar was at his heels.
"Dismiss fire," Durotan told Drek’Thar. At once, the sheets of flame that almost singed Durotan's eyebrows dissipated. He stood face-to-face now with Velen, and a wave of an emotion he could not properly name rose inside him as he realized that the draenei elder was still as calm and serene as he had been when they had simply been talking.
"Velen, you and your people are now prisoners of the Frostwolf clan," Durotan said in a soft, dangerous voice.
Velen smiled, sweetly, sadly. "I expected nothing less."
he said.
He and the other four somehow maintained their composure while Durotan ordered them stripped and searched. Their glorious robes were taken and given to
Durotan's top warriors, and the draenei were clad now in
sweat-stiff tunics. His stomach turned at the jeers, insults,
and spits that came their way at the humiliation, but he
did not stop it. As long as no physical harm came to the
prisoners—and Durotan watched closely to ensure that
none would—he would let his warriors have their sport. cheap wow gold buy wow power leveling
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Beside him, Draka looked angry at the behavior of her fellow Frostwolves and whispered, "My mate, can you not silence them?"
He shook his head. "I want to see how the draenei react. And . . . the warriors have stayed their hands when they might have been expected to kill. I will not silence their tongues as well." Related Article:
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