[Se] Bound
"Name?"
"Se."
The orc narrowed his eyes, glancing up from his notes. "That all?"
She looked around. Ahead of her, new recruits were collecting their tabards and armor. Behind, other young trolls shifted and murmured impatiently.
"Se'ala," she said. If a lie would keep her from being questioned further, then so be it.
He grunted and wrote in the longer name on the list.
"Damned trolls. Not a family or clan name in the lot of 'em."
Oh. So that was what he'd meant. She'd assumed he was questioning her age, or her status among the Darkspear. But as she glanced back toward the rest of the volunteers waiting their turn, she realized that most of them were barely adults. It was possible--she stepped forward, holding out her hands for the rough, sturdy tabard--that she was the oldest one here.
Better late than never, though, right?
Slipping the tabard over her head and accepting a pair of lightweight leather spaulders, she moved away from the line and looked around. The newly enlisted stood in groups, chatting quietly. She recognized a few of the young men from the village, and ducked her head, praying silently that they would not see her. This was her escape, the first day of her new life. She didn't need their barbed words and smug looks, today of all days.
Instead, she moved to join a trio of orcs resting in the shade of the Razor Hill barracks. They looked up at her approach, and she stared back, daring them to say something, anything. One of the two women shrugged, grunting a bit, and moved aside to make room for her against the cool stone wall. She sat as if she had every right to be there, pretending to tighten the straps on her armor so she wouldn't have to see the mocking stares. Leather creaked and groaned, and she could hear the line of volunteers shuffling by, muttering and complaining to themselves. Were they staring, too? She ignored them, adjusting and readjusting her spaulders until they had all passed by.
"Get over here and listen up!"
She blinked. The other recruits were gathering in the center of the town, where the roads met, and the orc who had been taking care of the paperwork now stood on a small stand, head and shoulders above the crowd. Her companions had already left to join the others; now she, too, stood and made her way to stand in the back of the gathering. The orc was speaking now, loud voice booming out over Razor Hill.
"...may have taken the oath before. However, I ask you to join us now in reaffirming your allegiance as those who have not yet taken the blood oath swear themselves to the service of the Horde and our Warchief:
Lok'tar ogar! Victory or death - it is these words that bind me to the Horde. For they are the most sacred and fundamental of truths to any warrior of the Horde.
I give my flesh and blood freely to the Warchief. I am the instrument of my Warchief's desire. I am a weapon of my Warchief's command.
From this moment until the end of days I live and die - For the Horde!"
"For de Horde," she echoed, half a beat behind the rest. Then a cheer rose up, a great roar starting with the orcs in the crowd and spreading to the trolls and the few scattered tauren. Hands clapped, feet stamped, and a few young men let out shrill, excited whoops.
"FOR THE HORDE!"