The story of Ouso, Survival Hunter of the Horde

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“It be startin’ up again, Axellus.”

Ouso sat heavily on the dusty, cracked sands and stared up at the gates of Orgrimmar in quiet reflection. Reinforced with jagged spikes and iron, they bore only a lingering resemblance to the entrance he remembered from so many years ago. Once, they’d been…not exactly welcoming, but steadfast. Resilient. Strong.

It was an aesthetic he appreciated, coming from the Darkspear Isles. He remembered that first day, the first trek he made to the capital city of the Darkspear’s new allies. Young, yes, untested – but willing to fight for sheer survival, something needed in the harsh deserts of Durotar. And perhaps he’d been afraid, somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, but he wasn’t about to admit it to anyone as he took those first fateful steps into the city.

Not long after, he met Axellus – an Orc fighting for the same cause. A good friend to have on one’s side in a fight, and did they ever fight. Month after month spent in defense of Horde territory, or trying to claim new ground. Warsong Gulch, the basin of Arathi, but mostly the snowy peaks of Alterac Valley. Some days, Ouso ended up pulling Axellus out of a scrape, while other days, Axellus did the same. Ouso didn’t have any brothers growing up, but Axellus was the next best thing, a brother in all but blood.

Ouso frowned, brushing a strand of unruly hair from his face, and looked down at his hands. Blue-skinned, callused, weathered and worn from years of battle. Had it really been so long? It hadn’t even been a decade by his reckoning, and yet…some days, it felt like an eternity.

“War, I mean. Alliance kicking up a storm, and Sylvanas…well. She got her own plans, hey?” Ouso couldn’t help it, the lingering resentment that coiled around her name – it was a bitter thing, as bitter as the woman who now stood as Warchief. Wasn’t her fault, wasn’t his hatred – wasn’t like him to hate. But every time he saw her, all he could see was a walking reminder that Vol’jin was gone.

Warchief one moment – so proud, Ouso had been, to see the Darkspear leader take up that mantle – the next, a brightly burning pyre not far from where he presently sat. All those months of careful planning, the triumphant rebellion, taking back the Horde and defending his fellow Darkspear with pride…all of it faded away in the shadows that darkened Vol’jin’s eyes, blackened his skin as he named his successor.

Sylvanas.

Ouso wasn’t stupid. Some called him downright clever, what with his alchemic concoctions and skill at tinkering. Hell, he even took over command in Icecrown Citadel when his commanding officer couldn’t handle the pressure. No, he definitely wasn’t stupid – but even he couldn’t decipher what went on behind the eyes of the Banshee Queen. She had plans, he was certain of it – what they were, however, remained as always a complete mystery.

“You know, sometimes I be wonderin why I bother,” he remarked, almost regretting the words the moment they left his mouth. “I know, I know – but it ain’t…like it used to be, Axellus. It ain’t like the old days. World be shiftin, always shiftin, and there be times I wonder where it shifting to. Leaders switchin places every couple of years. World in turmoil – if it ain’t a demon it be the undead, if it ain’t the undead it be a dragon, if it ain’t a dragon it be…well, it be our new Warchief. Every time, we figure it out. Every time we figure it out, something new come along to make it worse.”

Ouso frowned as the wind kicked up, dust clinging to his tusks and irritating his eyes. “…but we survive,” he said, finally. “And the Darkspear keep on. The Horde keep on. Ain’t nobody going to beat us down – we die, we die with honor. You taught me that. Ain’t never said thank you. Figured I should, before…before I go wherever we be going next.”

He gave the marker in the dust a sly grin, narrowed gaze just a little melancholy, but steadfast in its resolve. With a final nod, Ouso got to his feet, gathering his things. “You rest easy, old friend. I ain’t planning on droppin my spear and joining you anytime soon, don’t you worry. But if you truly be with the spirits, maybe have ‘em watch over me a little, hey? Couldn’t hurt.”

And as he made his way towards the jagged gates of the city, Ouso felt a gust of wind at his back – not unlike those experienced in the chilly reaches of Alterac Valley – and smiled.

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