Sancha

Two orcs sat upon a stone bench outside the Scarlet Cathedral, their armours stained with fresh blood and their breath being expelled in great gouts of mist into the cool night air as they looked over the carnage they had just wrought. All around them lay the bloodied, battered and burnt remains of the Crusader forces that were defending the grand building only moments before. Inside the building lay the broken bodies of Mograine and Whitemane surrounded by more of their followers, none of them would be preaching their twisted beliefs again.

One of the orcs was an old male. His grey mane of hair showed signs of thinning, and his green skin was leathery and scarred. Nevertheless an agelessness burned in his eyes and he moved with ease in his heavy, spiked plate armour.

The other was a younger female,. She wore a black pointy hat, and an elegant robe of purples, whites and golds which bolts of electricity would occasionally arc across and discharge into the air. She didn't look nearly as comfortable in the cloth as her companion did in his armour.

"S'nothin' like the smell of pink skin blud" Rumbled the older orc.
"Don't get to enjoy it nearly enough these days..." The female replied
He nodded in agreement.
"I was wondering..."
"Mmh?"
"Back in there...when that wench came out, and put us too sleep with her magic, did the humans stop hitting you?"
"Dun't t'ink they did."
She chuckled "So what does it take to wake you up then?" The old orc grinned.
"A good warrior knowz when to sleep an' when to wake"
"So, if my robe happend to get torn off in the fight?"
"No magics are strong enough to keep an orc from doin' what needs doin'" He grinned cheekily as the colour of the females face darkened.
"Need I remind you that you're covered in metal?" Electricity crackled around her and a small orb of it began orbiting her.
"I dun' get what'cha mean.."
She blinked, sighed, and the orbiting ball dissipated into the air. "...Nevermind"
He snickered "Ofcourse I gut what ya meant I just think dat you should save stuff like that for the pups at yer age".
"They're all scared of me" She sighed, and the old orc turned to face her, eyeing her over.
"Scared? Sure they jus' don't respect ya? Your kind were greatly respected in da frostwolf clan."
"Well, they would be, the frostwolves never truly gave up on the old ways. But it -is- fear, I'm an independent female, who expects equal treatment. I speak in a different way to them, more like the elves, I was born in azeroth, not outland, and I don't have a clan name"
"Bah, who were these orcs? If they're judgin' yer on those things they aren't worth ya"
"Well...there were the red blades"
"Bah, red blades? I know 'em buncha pups naught much older then ya, most 'o em probably born in azeroth too."
"But they're traditionalists..."
"Yer call orcs willing tha side wi' elves to kill trolls traditionalists? Bah.."

The female fell quiet, sitting in awe of the old, wise warrior next to her who was likely born on the wide verdant plains of Nagrand and whom had fought the various enemies of the Horde his entire life. She wondered what he was doing here, now. He had never directly called her a 'pup' and she wondered if this was on purpose and she also wondered if there was anything genuine behind his flirting. In a way the female found herself hoping so.