Hello everyone.

I loved the Demon Hunter series so much that I wanted to do another book in the Warcraft universe. The only thing stopping me was that I couldn't think of what to do. I toyed with following Ilinar through some Vanilla WoW/Outland/Titan themes, but the problem was the story really didn't interest me for one thing. And for another thing Montfere is kind of a little shit, truth be told. I didn't want to write a story with a hero even worse than Nex, and that's the only way I could see to write him.

You may still see him in this, though. You may see other characters as well.

Also I like to follow the story, and to be honest recently the story has been about Horde. Following the story in the Demon Hunter series mostly followed Illidan, since he was the driving force behind everything. This time I'll be following Garrosh's Horde. It's a good opportunity to swap factions.

So I'm pleased to bring you "Honor". The story of Drazgh, an old orc hero still haunted by his memories of the Old Horde and his actions while part of the Blood Oath. And Deneth, daughter of Drazgh, a strong and honorable warrior growing up in Garrosh's Horde. Their struggle to stay true to what it is to be an orc, when so much of that has been forgotten in the recent trials of their race, will be challenged by the chaos and bloodlust of a new Horde that seems determined to abandon all the sacrifices of earlier heroes and return to the nature of the Old Horde.

A couple of things about Honor. First off it's not going to follow canon quite as closely as my Demon Hunter series. A couple of reasons for that. 1. I don't know the Cata and MoP lore quite as well as I do the earlier stuff. This is partly because; 2. I'm not as inspired by Blizzard's current writing as I am by their past writing. I'd like to see where I can go with this.

Most of the pertinent Horde events will be there, but maybe not quite in the way you remember them. I haven't decided yet whether to skip Pandaria entirely or only distantly reference, or just make it a minor part of the story. Either way our heroes probably won't do much there.

A brief warning about content. My Demon Hunter series had some adult material, although I tried not to be too graphic. Honor will also have adult material. I'll continue to try not to be too graphic with it, but the nature of the story requires it somewhat. Because of this I've upped its rating from "T" to "M".

Last of all, of course, this material is set in Blizzard's World of Warcraft. This is a fan fiction, set entirely in a world made by many, many talented writers and designers of all kinds.

I'm just grateful to be a part of it, and to give you an opportunity to be a part of it in a new way.

NT

Honor

Prologue

Out With The Old

Below him Shattrath burned, the poisonous gas the warlocks had launched into the Lower City mingling with the smoke from the main terrace flames. Together they made a choking cloud that had even the blood-crazed orcs wading through the slaughter coughing and gagging.

But up here on Aldor Rise the air was clear, filled only with the screams echoing from within the Shrine of Unending Light.

Drazgh hauled himself the rest of the way up onto the rise, drawn by the siren calls of pain and horror drifting his way. He had sated his bloodlust in the massacre down below, cutting down the remaining draenei who survived the poisonous Lower City. Now he had lust of a different kind to think of.

He had always quietly appreciated the delicate beauty of female draenei. They were far more graceful and lithe than orc females, though lacking that animal attractiveness. He had never contemplated coupling with them the way some orcs mated with ogresses, but now the Blood Oath singing in his veins pulled him to satisfy all his basest desires, and their armies had brought few orc women with them.

The city below had been strangely empty of women and children. Most were here, on Aldor Rise, the place where the draenei had taken their final stand against orcish invaders.

He passed the bodies of a few exarchs and anchorites as he hurried up the steps of the shrine. Just outside the door a single priestess lay sprawled, her pure white robes soiled and bunched up around her neck. She had been more comely than most female draenei, with well polished horns and hooves and long, lustrous hair. Pleasantly plump, showing curves in all the right places and plenty of muscle. The priestess bore no visible wounds save for the ones caused by multiple violations, indicating how she had died.

The sight lifted him into a frenzy and he bounded up the remaining steps, through the door and into the draenei temple. The screams beckoned him on.

Drazgh bolted awake, panting. Guilt and shame filled him as he struggled to push away the dream, same as they always did when he dreamed of his time under the sway of the Blood Pact. They made good company with the even more shameful longing he felt.

Longing for when things were easier, and he could blame his actions on his leaders or the demon blood within him.

With a shudder he pushed out of bed, splashing some water over his sweat-soaked face and bare chest from the crude clay jar beside the door. Then he pushed out into the chill predawn of Durotan. It only took four steps to reach the end of the ledge his house was built upon, looking down at the still, silent bulk of Orgrimmar below. He stood there, heedless of the fall, and tried to clear his head.

He remembered everything he'd done while under the corrupting influence of Mannoroth's blood. And like the other orcs who remembered he knew he hadn't been a completely unwilling slave. Even now he reveled in the slaughter, in the glorious battles between vast armies. The blood, the thunder of metal clashing and feet pounding. The feel of his weapon tearing into his enemies.

And the shameful spoils.

But what troubled him about those memories was how many of the things which had seemed honorable to the old Horde with its demonic bloodlust now seemed honorable to the new Horde. And more troubling still, how many of the violent tenets they'd followed for glory while under the grip of demons had been honorable to the orcs before they'd ever been contacted by the Burning Legion at all.

Thrall claimed Grom Hellscream had freed the orcs from their curse of bloodlust. But how much of a curse was it, how free had they become, when the orcs had so closely resembled the demons they served beforehand and how closely they still resembled them now under Garrosh?

A peaceful, shamanistic society, Thrall called the Orcish history before Ner'zhul. But Drazgh remembered fighting ogres and gronn, arrakoa and other orc clans, and even raiding draenei villages. He remembered his father telling him stories of glorious past battles. His grandfather.

How peaceful could their society be if the only way to die with honor was on the battlefield?

Drazgh spat over the side, into the blackness of the Valley of Strength below. Strength, honor. The strong took what they wanted from the weak. Orc females didn't let any warrior take them unless they were stronger, peons served because they didn't dare fight, and those who produced a bountiful harvest or an abundant herd were just asking to share their spoils with whoever they couldn't defend themselves against.

He hadn't wanted to be part of Thrall's new Horde, with the son of Durotan's talk of peace and suffering in this wasteland in penance for their sins. That wasn't the way of the clans. That was a reflection of Thrall's human upbringing, the shameful weakness that Thrall flaunted as if it was strength.

But at the same time he didn't want to be part of Hellscream's Horde with its reflection of the demon but none of the influence of the broken Blood Pact. The orcs had held a middle ground, once. Taking what they needed but never needlessly destructive. Delighting in battle but never killing any who couldn't or wouldn't fight back.

Taking females for mates, but never the females of other races whose struggles were real, not part of the game of mating.

Did any besides him remember what it meant to be orc? To have true honor, not the bloodlust of demons or the weak pandering of humans.

A soft presence came up beside him. His daughter, clad only in her skin, as was he. For a few moments they stood together, looking out at the vista below. "You were thrashing in your sleep again, father," she said quietly. "The old dreams?"

Drazgh nodded but didn't reply, enjoying the silence of the morning and the presence of his offspring. Very much like her mother, Deneth was. But far more fierce and skilled in the ways of war. Her'gra had been beautiful and strong, but she hadn't put up much of a fight when he took her, and to be honest he'd taken her more for her beauty than her strength.

The fear had always been with him that his offspring would share their mother's weakness, and even more when she died bearing Deneth. His only blood.

But Deneth had grown up fierce and strong, and perhaps it was a mercy Her'gra had died and never spread her weakness of thought and temperament to her daughter. Under Drazgh's tutelage she'd taken to weapons as if they were part of her, and as she'd gotten older more than a few male orcs had looked at her in admiration, and females in envy.

She'd been old enough to breed for years, now. Young orcs had tried to take her all that time, but she'd easily fended off their advances, growing more frustrated as none were able to overcome her. Many had scars to show for it, and Deneth had more than a few herself.

Deneth wanted to be mated, and she was certainly comely enough to draw the eyes of the strongest orcs. But thus far none had managed it and that only fueled her anger, making her even more harsh and brutal in her fighting, and thus increasing her reputation and making her more intimidating. She was gaining a great deal of honor in Hellscream's horde, but not the mate she desired.

The mate she deserved. She deserved better than to be living in her father's house at her age, timidly nipped by pups who squeaked and bolted when she bared her teeth.

Perhaps he should rethink protecting her from the attentions of Hellscream's inner circle. There were strong orcs, there, easily strong enough to overpower her and take her for their own. But their souls were weak, falling behind Hellscream and unquestioningly supporting his every command. Deneth deserved someone who was not only strong enough to take her, but wise enough to appreciate her strength and build a life together with her.

Hellscream's grunts beat and cowed their women like they were slaves, or worse pathetic half-orcs. Had they no shame?

Thoughts of his daughter eventually being taken and mated bothered Drazgh, for they returned him to his previous thoughts of the direction the new Horde had gone. Deneth was strong, yes, but the fact that no worthy male had yet been strong enough to take her was a bad sign for the new generation. A shameful weakness few seemed willing to acknowledge or rectify.

Even more shamefully, more than one male who had failed to take Deneth had tried to kill her if they couldn't have her, taking their violence beyond the game of mating and into a duel started in the most dishonorable way. It broke his heart to see Deneth's pain as she was forced to kill and maim potential mates, and fueled his righteous anger when he finished off those she spared.

"What do you think about when you stand here, father?" his daughter eventually asked. "Your forehead is always lined, and your scowl deeper than usual."

"I think of our future."

She nodded. Many orcs thought of the future these days. It was better than thinking of the past. "What do you see for us?"

"Conflict, conflict, and more conflict," he said grimly.

Her smile was predatory. "Good. There is much honor to be gained, and Garrosh has the will to see us through it."

"Does he?" Drazgh shook his head slowly. "We show our strength through combat, and take what we have the strength for. But even the strongest orc doesn't walk alone into an ogre camp. Garrosh challenges the Alliance, under him Sylvanas challenges the Argent Crusade, we use the Sunreavers and risk angering the Kirin Tor, and we make war with the night elves, threatening to draw the ire of the dragon Aspects that watch over them."

"More enemies to fight."

Drazgh laughed sharply. "The Horde is strong, daughter, but not as strong as the Old Horde. And even the Old Horde failed when it tried to fight the whole world at once. Hellscream may be leading us to a fight we can't win."

She seemed angry. "And what would you have us do, father? Back down and huddle in this desert like Thrall wants us to do, weak and starving?"

"I do not know, daughter," Drazgh said harshly, staring down at the manufactory where goblins were starting to scurry out of the woodwork and begin their daily tasks. "We try to cling to old traditions we half know, struggle to hold onto what it is to be orc. But what we call honor the other races of this world call black dishonor. While we hold to our ways they will fight us tooth and nail until they've destroyed us. And they are right to do so, if they have that strength."

"What are you saying, father?" Deneth said, shocked.

He shook his head, feeling suddenly deeply weary. "I would be happy to die as an orc rather than live as a human, if only I knew that was how I was truly dying. But is it foolishness to lead our entire people to destruction in pursuit of honor? When does honor for honor's sake go from being noble to being cowardly?"

The young orc warrior shifted nervously. "I don't like to hear you talk like this, father. You sound like Thrall."

Drazgh whirled and spat at her feet, towering in insult. "This from you, daughter? Thrall has embraced the human honor and tries to force it on us, tarnishing our own heritage. Perhaps he is right to do so, if we want to live on this world, but I can't accept it. But no more can I accept what Garrosh calls honor. It is an even greater abomination!"

The young female lowered her head sullenly. She knew she couldn't best him. And when she could she would. "At least Garrosh leads us to victory. He doesn't force us to starve and scrape in a wasteland in pursuit of some penance for deeds none of us even committed."

"And in turn you'd commit deeds of your own?" Drazgh said, anger vanishing with unorcly suddenness, shaming him. "You didn't live under the Blood Oath, daughter. For half a century our leaders have pursued power and glory, trampling honor by the wayside. Ner'zul, Gul'dan. Even the revered Doomhammer and Hellscream the Elder betrayed our people for power.

"And after that betrayal, that erosion of our culture, came the defeat. Torn from our leaders, languishing in camps while our heritage was forgotten. When we finally freed ourself half of us barely even knew what it was to be orc."

Deneth shifted impatiently, looking annoyed. "What's the point of this history, father? You don't even speak of past battles or glory."

"Then I'll speak of it," Drazgh said sternly. "I'll speak of how by the time we took the Blood Oath and became little better than demons, instruments of the Burning Legion's destructive goals, most of the actions we committed under the pall of that bloodlust never struck me as dishonorable, even after Hellscream freed us from the Pact."

His daughter staggered back, eyes wide in horror. "I-I don't understand."

"I'm saying that many of the things we find honorable as a people make us behave exactly like the demons that enslaved us! I'm saying that young people like you, who have had your cultural identity and your heritage torn from you, no longer even know how to be honorable! You look to whoever leads you and take your honor from them!"

She scowled. "I know what-"

Drazgh struck her hard, throwing her to the ground. Brazen whelp had gone too far this time. "You know nothing! Our people know nothing! Thrall said he was going to return us to our roots, but instead he forced human honor upon us! And the orcs were so lost to themselves that they let him! Then when Garrosh came, that cur who was so despised on his own world that he fled from other orcs. He embraced all the ideals of his father, all the worst aspects of the Burning Legion's influence, and called that honor. And the orcs were so lost to themselves that they let him return us to that state! But now we don't even have the excuse of pit lord blood coursing within us to explain our actions!"

Deneth surged to her feet, hands on her weapons. She was obviously so disturbed by what he was saying that she was willing to challenge him, win or lose. "So what is honor, father?" she spat. "I obviously just follow whoever is leading us at the time, so why don't you force your own honor on me?"

Drazgh stepped back, letting her save this small amount of face. He didn't want to have to kill his only flesh and blood, the child of his beloved Her'gra. "Perhaps I should," he growled. "If the orcs as a people have decided to adopt the honor of whoever leads them, perhaps it is best to find someone who struggles to hold to orc honor. At least as best as I can remember it. Not human honor, not demon honor. Perhaps it is time to find our heritage again. Not the heritage of those pathetic Mag'har who fled and turned their backs on their own race and discovered an honor that kept them from war and glory."

For a moment his daughter stood there, eyes flashing. How strong she was, even for one so young! Had he been so strong at her age? Perhaps she would challenge him after all. He had no desire to die, but there were worse ways to fall than as a stepping stone to lift your offspring even higher.

But instead she turned away, back to their home. "I should know better to talk to you after an old dream," she growled. The door crashed shut behind her and she was gone.

Drazgh turned back to look out over Orgrimmar. Hellscream had banished many of the tauren and trolls living within the city, forcing them out to the goblin work camps. Many were returning to their own people, fracturing the ties of brotherhood Thrall had spent years binding. Drazgh had no issue with each race being left to itself, but anything that weakened the strength of the Horde right when Hellscream seemed poised to unleash all-out war upon the Alliance was a foolish move.

Foolish. Hellscream seemed full of foolish moves. What madness was it in orc culture that demanded brash young orcs take the mantle of Warchief, disdaining older, more experienced orcs for their age and relegating them to the position of advisor?

To be fair Hellscream was older than Thrall, but Drazgh would put his own Deneth's maturity and wisdom up against the Mag'har's and call her the winner.

A distant clanging and whirring came from the goblin manufactory. More war machines were being built there. Wasteful, unreliable machines that destroyed themselves as often as the enemy. Why did Hellscream love them so?

With a sigh Drazgh turned away. Dark thoughts filled his mind after his dreams. Sullen thoughts about leaders he had sworn to uphold, a people he loved and was fiercely proud to belong to.

A war he wasn't sure they could win, or even should attempt.

In the morning his heart would be stone once more. He would stand behind Hellscream with the other venerable advisors and be ignored. But when the time came to fight he would be out there advising the young warleaders. Terror would sing in his hands once more, crushing the feeble defenses of his enemies.

The peace talks with the Alliance hadn't gone well, thanks largely to Hellscream's impetuous behavior. For once Drazgh blessed it, though, for it had kept Thrall from making that vital oath to continue the nonaggression with the night elves. Because of that the resources the Horde needed, not only to prosecute war but to survive, were within their grasp. The doors to Ashenvale were wide open.

And through them the wolves of hell would come snarling, ridden by the heroes of the Horde.