barely crested the distant Alterac peaks by the time he reached the city’s outskirts. He had tethered Mirador in the woods and ran the last quarter mile to the city. As he ran, he attempted to formulate a plan to save old Eitrigg. Much to his dismay, he came up with nothing. He hoped that when the time came, he would think of something brilliant that didn’t involve killing or injuring his own people. However, seeing as how he was a convicted traitor, they certainly would have no qualms about killing him. He knew that the likelihood of saving the orc and escaping Stratholme alive was slim.
Undeterred, Tirion stealthily made his way through Stratholme’s quiet, cobblestone streets. A few merchants and vendors were beginning to set up their wares for the day’s transactions in the marketplace, but there were few others about at that early hour. He managed to evade the few guards he saw walking the streets. Fearing that the local guardsmen would recognize him, Tirion kept to the shadows and stayed well out of sight.
As Tirion neared the public square, he began to hear loud voices shouting and jeering. He hoped he was not too late to save the orc. He stepped into the square and saw a large gathering of men at its center. Clinging to the shadows, Tirion climbed a short staircase and situated himself in a small, recessed alcove that offered a full view of the newly erected gallows. The crowd that had gathered around the scaffolding was comprised mostly of guards and footmen. They had all come to see the spectacle of the old orc’s hanging. Thankfully, Tirion realized that the prisoner had not yet been brought out. The gathered men merely jeered and shouted at one another in anticipation.
There were a number of knights, dressed in their finest armor, surrounding the square. They stood quiet and vigilant, ready to intercede if the volatile crowd turned into a mob. Tirion recognized many of the knights who had been present at his trial. Although they were relatively calm, Tirion knew that they wanted to see the orc hanged as much as the footmen and the guards did.
After a few moments, the gathering stirred as a newcomer strode up to the gallows. Tirion saw that it was Barthilas. The young Paladin waved and shouted to the crowd enthusiastically, riling them up for what he obviously considered to be the morning’s entertainment. Tirion was glad that he couldn’t hear Barthilas’ words. He suspected that they were filled with poison and hatred. He felt a momentary pang of remorse, knowing that his beloved Hearthglen was now in Barthilas’ unstable hands.
* * *
Tirion watched as a second figure emerged from the throng and ascended the scaffolding. Lord Dathrohan, seemingly oblivious to the crowd’s raucous din, walked up to Barthilas’ side and scanned the square with stern eyes. He spoke to the crowd for a moment and the jeering died down to a low roar. Tirion held his breath. He knew they would bring Eitrigg out soon. Minutes passed by slowly as Tirion waited anxiously beneath the alcove. A tension built amongst the onlookers as well. They seemed more eager to watch a neck snap than see true justice met. As the din rose up again, more and more people gathered in the square. Even women and children edged closer, hoping to catch sight of the terrible orcish monster.
Finally, the gates to the nearby holding cell opened and a squad of footmen strode out in tight formation. The gathered onlookers erupted in cheers and began to hurl garbage and stones at the newcomers. Armored as they were, the footmen took little notice of the crowd’s fervor or its harmless projectiles. Their shiny armor flashed in the morning light, but Tirion could see that they dragged a huddled shape among them.
It was Eitrigg.
They stopped at the base of the scaffolding, and two men dragged the old orc up the rest of the way. The orc was barely able to stand and his green body was covered with dark bruises and lacerations.
Tirion
Undeterred, Tirion stealthily made his way through Stratholme’s quiet, cobblestone streets. A few merchants and vendors were beginning to set up their wares for the day’s transactions in the marketplace, but there were few others about at that early hour. He managed to evade the few guards he saw walking the streets. Fearing that the local guardsmen would recognize him, Tirion kept to the shadows and stayed well out of sight.
As Tirion neared the public square, he began to hear loud voices shouting and jeering. He hoped he was not too late to save the orc. He stepped into the square and saw a large gathering of men at its center. Clinging to the shadows, Tirion climbed a short staircase and situated himself in a small, recessed alcove that offered a full view of the newly erected gallows. The crowd that had gathered around the scaffolding was comprised mostly of guards and footmen. They had all come to see the spectacle of the old orc’s hanging. Thankfully, Tirion realized that the prisoner had not yet been brought out. The gathered men merely jeered and shouted at one another in anticipation.
There were a number of knights, dressed in their finest armor, surrounding the square. They stood quiet and vigilant, ready to intercede if the volatile crowd turned into a mob. Tirion recognized many of the knights who had been present at his trial. Although they were relatively calm, Tirion knew that they wanted to see the orc hanged as much as the footmen and the guards did.
After a few moments, the gathering stirred as a newcomer strode up to the gallows. Tirion saw that it was Barthilas. The young Paladin waved and shouted to the crowd enthusiastically, riling them up for what he obviously considered to be the morning’s entertainment. Tirion was glad that he couldn’t hear Barthilas’ words. He suspected that they were filled with poison and hatred. He felt a momentary pang of remorse, knowing that his beloved Hearthglen was now in Barthilas’ unstable hands.
* * *
Tirion watched as a second figure emerged from the throng and ascended the scaffolding. Lord Dathrohan, seemingly oblivious to the crowd’s raucous din, walked up to Barthilas’ side and scanned the square with stern eyes. He spoke to the crowd for a moment and the jeering died down to a low roar. Tirion held his breath. He knew they would bring Eitrigg out soon. Minutes passed by slowly as Tirion waited anxiously beneath the alcove. A tension built amongst the onlookers as well. They seemed more eager to watch a neck snap than see true justice met. As the din rose up again, more and more people gathered in the square. Even women and children edged closer, hoping to catch sight of the terrible orcish monster.
Finally, the gates to the nearby holding cell opened and a squad of footmen strode out in tight formation. The gathered onlookers erupted in cheers and began to hurl garbage and stones at the newcomers. Armored as they were, the footmen took little notice of the crowd’s fervor or its harmless projectiles. Their shiny armor flashed in the morning light, but Tirion could see that they dragged a huddled shape among them.
It was Eitrigg.
They stopped at the base of the scaffolding, and two men dragged the old orc up the rest of the way. The orc was barely able to stand and his green body was covered with dark bruises and lacerations.
Tirion
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