Dragonmaw

[moonshadows]

“I’m stumped, Daran.” Mikanna paced the length of the tent while her hulking Champion lounged against his raptor. “The Dragonmaw aren’t convinced that I got the Doomhammer honestly, or that I am strong enough to lead the Horde, and being a shaman doesn’t impress them because they remember Gul’dan and Ner’zhul. A show of strength will only convince them that I’m a tyrant, and talk of peace makes them think I’m weak.”

“Ask the First War vets? They fought with the Dragonmaw, maybe some of them are remembered and trusted.”

“Good idea.” The young Warchief poked her head out of the tent and conversed with the Elites, one of whom saluted and trotted off.

Several minutes later, he returned with a grizzled vet.

“Kortuk of the Bleeding Hollow, Warchief,” the vet introduced himself. “How can I help?”

Mikanna rubbed her temples. “I’m trying to earn enough respect among the Dragonmaw that they’ll listen to me. Right now, they don’t even take me seriously.”

“Have your Champion thrash a few of theirs,” he suggested promptly.

“Tried that,” Daran interjected. “They don’t take me seriously because I have brown skin.”

Kortuk blinked as though remembering something. “Daran Ironheart, right? Your mother is Ryxl daughter of Kalika?” He turned to Mikanna. “Send her.”

“Aunt Ryxl is in Alterac with my mother and father…it’s not that far away…”

Daran shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Mother hates her clans.”

The Bleeding Hollow orc laughed. “Strike me blind, but she was right.”

“Who was?”

“Your grandmother. She told me years ago that one day, she would be remembered only for birthing your mother. No, Warchief, send Ryxl and don’t worry that she hates her mother’s clan. The rest of the world may have forgotten Kalika Ironheart, but the Dragonmaw will remember her.” He smiled fondly. “She was a looker alright, but get on her bad side and she was a pointy ball of rage. If her daughter doesn’t impress the Dragonmaw, nothing will.”

==================================

“I am Ryxl Ironheart, daughter of Kalika!” The declaration rang out, syllables clearly Dragonmaw-accented despite half a lifetime of covering it up, echoing across the no-man’s land in front of Dragonmaw Fortress. No longer protected by the cool shell of Champion Ironheart, the words pulsed with the heat of her fury. “I don’t particularly like you, and I’m only here as a favor to Warchief Mikanna, so if any of you want to dispute my claim, feel free to come out and let me prove it to you…BY BEATING YOU INTO THE GROUND!”

Silence. The orcs lining the wall conversed quietly amongst themselves while Ryxl waited, arms crossed. After several minutes, a white-haired orc matron pushed her way to the front of the crowd.

“Kalika was lost to us many years ago,” she called. “What proof do you have to back your claim?”

“I have the word of the red dragon Varialstrasz, who bore her in battle, and who recognized me as the child of my mother and defended me to his Flight when I met him some years ago. He bore her to Blackrock Mountain where she killed my father for impregnating her, and then south to the jungles of Stranglethorn where she birthed and raised me until her death.”

“How did she kill him?”

Ryxl grinned at the memory of her favorite bedtime story. “Got him in the throat with the dagger she kept up her sleeve. My name was the sound he made when she did it.”

A handful of older orcs chuckled.

“How did she die?” the matron demanded.

“A giant purple raptor ate her and took her strength. He was on his way to becoming king of the raptors when I bent him to my will. We fought side by side until he died killing Blackrock warlocks. I ate his heart and took his strength, and now I carry both of them with me.”

“Do you have the dagger?”

Ryxl reached into her sleeve and held it up.

“Stay right there. We’re coming down.”

A few minutes later the old orc woman and the ones who had laughed slipped out of the gate. Ryxl’s other hand dropped to the hilt of her ornate sword, but she made no other move. The old woman examined the blade, then peered into Ryxl’s face, and finally embraced the younger woman.

“My name is Magda,” she said thickly. “Kalika was my sister.”

She released her niece, and the other orcs took turns examining Ryxl and the dagger. “Snarl for me,” one of them said, and grunted in appreciation when she did. Finally they agreed that this was indeed the daughter of Ironheart.

“Now that you’re satisfied that I am who I say I am,” Ryxl said, still irritated, “are you going to listen to my son and his Warchief, or am I going to have to knock some heads together?”

“Your son?” one of the grizzled orcs asked. “That brown-skinned buck? I didn’t think there were any uncorrupted orcs left. Who did you find to sire him?”

Ryxl grinned. “Sarok son of Saurfang. And believe me, he has both my best traits, and the best traits of his father.”

The orc who had half-leered scratched his head. “What about that girl claiming to be the Warchief?”

“She’s not claiming,” Ryxl said coldly. “She is the Warchief. Orgrim Doomhammer was mortally wounded in battle and passed his weapon, his armor, and the title of Warchief to his chosen successor – Thrall, son of Durotan. Mikanna is Thrall’s only child, and has earned the blessings of the elements and the ancestors. That includes the spirits of Orgrim Doomhammer and Grom Hellscream, who died slaying the pit lord Mannoroth in single combat. Don’t be fooled by her youth or her kind disposition. I helped raise her.” Ryxl crossed her arms and smirked. “Underestimate her at your own risk.”