The Orc looked out over the ocean watching the sun set into the sea, he held her head slightly up. When the sun went below the sea he tightened his grip around her neck, then he sliced his ritual dagger across her throat splitting it open. Her head fell backwards and blood poured out of her now open neck over the sacrificial table then underneath her on the ground.

He hears a small whimper, looks down and grunts with satisfaction as the female panda eyes begin to fade. “We offer this sacrifice in the honor of the Black Tooth Grin Clan and that they will rejoin with us here.” Take the ritual dagger and shoves into the heart of the panda, ensuring that death would take hold of this ones soul.

Old Blademaster Bonesnap sat away from the circle, the sea’s breeze made his white braid dance like a serpent. His blade sang as he glided the sharpening stone along its edge. Gazing across the sea not looking down, not needing to. He knew what the last note of the song would be when his blade was sharp enough to slice stone. He needed only This blade and a stone to protect the clan, and would do so with the last drop of his own blood.

As the female panda gasped her last breath, the Orc looked again back out to the sea wondering if the Clan will ever reunite with Rend and the rest of the Black Tooth Grin Clan. He heard his name coming from behind “Buk’sa?”, he let the thought pass and returned to the ritual at hand.

Geadda stood behind them, a growing and disapproving frown on her face. “You play dangerously Buk’sa...these creatures are not stupid and will catch you at your game before long.”

She had watched the young orc grow into the chief he had become, stubborn, sometimes cruel, but he had kept the torch burning, after his father, through the long ordeal. She remembered his parents, his father...the son was eerily similar, although more of a deep thinker, which in her mind was more ominous.

Geadda sighed as she looked at the ritual dagger. It was crude, but the traditions that they had carried with them did not require more. The years had passed slowly, many of her friends and compatriots had died of their injuries from the battle, disease or in a lot of cases, simply giving up. The few who remained, some of the original squad, but most children of the few, held on to their belief that they would be returned to the Morass...to Draenor.

Buk’sa looked down at the now deceased panda, he took the ritual dagger and wiped it cleaned with the breast of the panda. “That is why we bring the sacrifices to the Dread Wastes, no fat panda would dare to come here by themselves.” He chuckles a bit and then his face becomes stern “It feels like yesterday Geadda. I was only ten and was going to be artificially aged when we returned to the rest of the Clan, but my fate was not to be so and I aged naturally.”

He stood there looking into the moonlit sea as he thought back to when he was ten.

Buk’sa stood on the forecastle looking at the other ships in Rend’s force. They had just returned from chasing Gul’dan and from the reports Gul’dan was dead. He was only ten and wasn’t allowed to go chase with them until he had completed the artificial aging process. He was excited to return with the rest of the Clan and conduct the ceremony.

Buk’sa heart began to sink as Rend’s lead ship and the others pulled further to the North East and the ship he was on fell back and pulled South West. The sudden storm had brought cross winds and choppy waters. The ship was rocking wildly as the storm caught them by surprise. The wind howling through the night. Bad enough the orcs were not familiar with sailing, Hardly any of them had dealt with a thunderstorm when there were no huts or caves.

He flinched as a bright stab of lightning arched from the clouds nearby, the sudden crash of thunder nearly deafening him. As his hearing cleared, the howl of a madman reached him. Out on the deck an old orc appeared to be dancing. The old orc held a nearly empty skin of strong liquor, the kind Buk’sa’s father allowed him a sip of to make him strong. But his father didn’t let him near the crazy hermit. Buk’sa had heard that the old drunk was a blademaster once, but looking out at the orc, stripped to the waist, crowing at the sky and moving around the deck in wild circles, he seemed good for nothing but unburdening the ship of drink. The young orc thought his stumbling had nothing to do with the pitching of the deck.

“Buk’sa! It is not safe here. Go down into the hold and find yourself an empty barrel to tie yourself to.” The young orc started and turned to face the voice. Towering above him was Blademaster Grom, the streaks of grey in his beard and hair made him look all the more serious in the order. But his eyes twinkled with excitement and welcomed another with the courage to face the storm.

“Or if you want to make yourself useful, go to the hold and make sure those crates we took from Gul’dan’s ships are secure.”

“Yes Blademaster.” and with that Buk’sa headed down into the hold to ensure the crates were secure. The ship began to rock heavily as Buk’sa tied down the last of the crates, he heard the wind howling through the ship and yelling voices from above. He went to the aft end of the hold, as he had learned the ship didn’t rock as much but tonight it did not matter.

It seemed like hours as the storm pushed and pulled the ship in the sea. He decided to open one of the crates, curiosity had gotten the best him as he wanted to know what was in them. He lifted the lid up and peered inside he saw artifacts, armor, axes, and books. His eyes caught a strange looking book, it was all black but he could make out what appeared to be a dragon on it. It seemed to reach out to him, begging him to take it. He reached into the crate and grabbed the book, it felt warm in his hands, he pulled it out of the crate and put the lid back down.

He sat down again as the ship rocked, the wind howled, and the rain blasted the ship. He looked at the book and the dragon seemed to be grinning at him. As he opened the book, there was a loud crack and then silence, it seemed as though the world had stopped for a moment. He ran up to the main deck to see what had happened and as he did, he saw what happened.

The mast broke in half and was laying over the starboard side of the ship. It creaked more and the bird nest laid into the sea, then a sail went in and began to drag the ship into a starboard turn. He heard some voices yelling as he stood there not knowing what to do.

Geadda clung to the rail, her face wet from the driving rain. She laughed aloud as the elements swirled around her. She felt the power of the storm and she felt the connection deep inside her. Thoughts of their peril broke through and she looked over her shoulder to see the mast fall and the crew scrambling in near panic to clear the ropes and sails. She spotted the young Buk’sa and moved quickly to where he watched from the hatch opening. She grabbed him roughly to break the spell and tied a loose rope around his waist then hers, then tucked them both into a space next to the stair and out of harm’s way.

General D’ghor Vagh strode forward toward the base of the broken mast. It was still connected and the mast was about to swing across the back deck.

“EVERYONE GET DOWN!!!” He bellowed and swung his massive axe upward neatly cleaving through what was left of the wood. The mast began to swing upward cantilevering on the iron rail. The General rushed towards the rail trying to guide the mast off the boat and into the ocean.

Tucked underneath the stairs with Geadda, Buk’sa clinched the book in his hands as he watched his father take his axe and bring down upon the base of the mast. His father was guiding the mast into the water, when Buk’sa noticed a turn of rope from the mast cinching around his fathers leg.

“FATHER!” Buk’sa yelled out as he began to rush towards him, but the rope around his waist didn’t let him go far from Geadda. His warnings were too late as the rope grabbed tight around his father's leg and pulled him into the water with the mast.

Geadda watched as the mast slid into the water, taking the old orc with it. The rope around her waist tugged sharply as the boy lurched forward. She pulled him back, the rope twisted around her fist, shoved him harshly back into the corner and growled at him to stay put.

“...you’ll follow him, move and I’ll throw you in too!” She untied the rope around her waist, and attached it with several knots to the rail, knowing that it would take the boy some time to untie the wet rope. She moved out onto the deck, and pulled an injured orc out from under part of the mast that remained, checking for his condition before moving to the next.

As things quieted, those that were able helped those who were not and tossed those that did not make it over the side. Geadda looked around, hoping there was someone to take charge and then glanced at the boy to see he was still there. He was. She moved toward the bow, and checked the condition of the survivors. Orcs were not sailors, the ship was floundering, uncontrolled in the stormy sea, their situation had taken a sharp downturn.

As quick as it started the storm came to an eerie calm. Attending those that were injured became a priority as well as keep the ship afloat. There was no way to maintain course without the sails, so the ship followed the current and the crew did not know where they were heading to. Was it into Alliance territory or Horde? The crew hoped it was Alliance, as shedding the blood of the Alliance was always an option. But without the General, there was no one lead them on and the General’s son was too young to lead, but needed someone to show him the way.

For days the ship drifted, and for days Bonesnap glared at the ocean with hatred. The ocean was the first enemy to defeat him in combat. His blade was useless out here and the oceans waves laughed at him. It was merciless, water was supposed to be Life! Yet this water was nothing but death. The storm waves took so many, the constant rocking even in good weather caused sickness and weakness, to even drink it was to hasten death. A peon walked to one of the water barrels about to thrust his head into it and wash the grime from his face. Bonesnap’s blade was under his chin before his face touched the water.

“Fool, that is all we have left!” Bonesnap turned out to the decks. “No water till noon! And only one mug! Test my will and test my blade!” He turned back to the ocean and shook with rage.

He was no Chief, no General. He looked down at the wolf’s head badge that marked him as one of the Raiders pulled it from his chest and pulled his arm back to throw it out into the ocean. He had failed he had been dishonored. He stopped his arm.

“No, Enemy Ocean. Take it from my dying hand if you can.”

Geadda stood on the ledge overlooking the vast empty ocean. She was not sure in what direction she faced or what lay beyond the mists, she had been told, but had not paid much attention to it. She crouched and tossed pebbles over the side, into the water and thought back the many years since they had landed on the shores of this...place.

The few that survived the long days of drifting, thirst and starvation had huddled weakly on the shore with no knowledge of where they were or what dangers awaited them beyond the bluffs. The natives had been leery, but not overly aggressive, and luckily, their small band had been too weak to put up any resistance. The Pandarian had set the survivors up in a few huts that stood on the beach, and had kept watch. It was a long time before the orcs were trusted to venture beyond their confinement.

Geadda turned and glanced down the slope at what had become their home. Many of the originals had died, some had married and bore a new generation, but she had made it her singular mission to keep the old traditions alive and make sure the young ones knew who they were and where they came from. She had lost hope that they would ever return to their homeland, or taste the blood of the alliance, or join in battle and song with their brothers and sisters of the Blacktooth Grin.

She tossed another handful of pebbles into the water, lifted her face to the wind and breathed deep of the salt air. She whispered her thoughts on the breeze and across the oceans, then made her way back to the camp.

Old Blademaster Bonesnap stood on the beach holding a long piece of bamboo and saluted to the young orcs and the pair of curious pandarian youths that had joined them. Practice was all the Blademaster had left these days, hunting was not the same as combat. Years had passed since he had been in a real fight, and not since the battle to take down Gul’dan had he seen true battle. That victory was bittersweet traitors they were, but they were orcs. He hoped that Doomhammer had left a few Alliance vermin to slay.

Buk’sa sat on the beach with his working on interpreting it. Papa Legba had helped him helped to decipher some of the words or at least they thought they did.

He looked up to see the Old Blademaster whip some young Orcs and Pandas with a stick as they practiced. Buk’sa chuckled and sighed. It seemed like yesterday when the storm hit and they landed here, but he was ready to return to the rest of the Clan. Even though Buk’sa was only ten, the Blademaster and Geadda told tales of the Black Tooth Grin Clan and their victories. Buk’sa was eager to return to the Clan and use his power, he sighed again. Power was one thing he did not have here, yes he was in charge of those stranded here, but the book had not revealed any power to him. He practiced what he believed was Warlock practices, but nothing happened.