“Karak! Not again!” Lakuu moaned as she walked along the moon-lite pathways of her fortress, the familiar yells and screams of a good ole-fashioned bar brawl taking place inside the garrison tavern. Lakuu entered silently, hoping to not draw attention, so that she could work out who started the fight. Though deep down, she already knew the answer. Her suspensions were confirmed as she saw the target of her ire throw one of the dwarven residents out the nearby window. “Enough! Back to your posts!” she yelled with great command, “Except you, Lantresor. You stay here. We need to talk.”
The room dispersed quickly, though the half-orc Lantresor snorted his disapproval, “I was finally enjoying myself, commander. You wish to take that from me?” he grunted, his hands crossed. “Is this about me putting you back on mining duty?” Lakuu asked, hoping to understand why the half-orc kept causing such a ruckus. Lantresor walked over to the smashed window, gazing sadly into the distance, “I was once a Burning Blade. I was raised for combat, for war! Yet I work menial jobs, wallowing below the earth. It is a travesty!”
Lakuu rolled her eyes, “You do this every time I pull you from the roster. It has to stop.” she said as she thought back to his older self on Outland, someone she once highly respected. The half-orc peered back at her, his eyes burning with defiance, “My blood burns, commander. The hunger will not stop until it has been satisfied.” Lakuu raised her brow, “Satisfied? And would combat be the only thing that would help satisfy you?” She inquired, “No, not the only thing.” answered Lantresor, “There are other ways, such as hunting, or mating. I need excitement!”
Lakuu thought hard about what could be done, when a devious thought crossed her mind, “I like you, Lantresor, but I need you working the mines. Come, let us drink together, maybe we can come to a new arrangement that could make both of us happy.” The half-orc looked back at her confused, “What type of arrangement?” he asked suspiciously. Lakuu reached down and grabbed a bottle of watered-down warsong moonshine, throwing it towards the half-orcs waiting hand. She then took another smaller bottle, taking a large swig of the bitter beverage to hydrate herself for the night ahead, “We will get to that in good time, now drink that bottle and meet me upstairs. That is an order.”
