It was a strong orc,called Habrush who was King then, still stalwart and hale though along in his years. His small realm was quiet and well nigh untroubled, as it had been for many generations past, though often the alliance caused mischief with their raids and petty assaults. Yet Habrush had repelled all attacks, even a minor invasion, with the same bravery and tenacity that his royal forefathers had exemplified over the centuries. He had done his duty vigorously, and without doubt would be remember with honor in the annals of the skullcrusher clan.
Thus it was in those days that practicality was valued greater then creativity and artistic ability. Structures and homes were constructed with tactical strength and defense in mind over aesthetic beauty. Metals were melded into weapons instead of musical instruments. Clay and mortar were used to fortify the city walls instead of to mold exotic pots and sculptures. Thus was life in Orgrimmar, brought on by the need to survive alone in an unforgiving land.
The Camp was not entirely bereft of bards and minstrels. Yet those who did consider themselves musicians often did not willingly engage in those professions, but instead were too weak or cowardly to join the camp gaurd and army. Some did long for the days of laughter and joyful dancing, yet those were few. Those who did wish for such were not scorned, but rather pitied, as most others agreed such idle life led to weakness and defeat.
All of this was to change. Some say it began that one day; others said the seeds had been planted throughout the generations. From the southern deserts came a stranger to Habrush's halls; tired, dusty, and with eyes that burned with a fire that seemed to consume his mortal soul. This stranger was not Durotar, for if he had been found out to be such he would have been scourged and suffered a tortuous death from the arrow-tips of alliance archers. Yet this stranger was not dark like the men of Durotar, but his countenance was fair like those of the north, as was the accent of his voice.
The men of Habrush's court marveled at the spectacle, a curious northerner appearing from the blazing and merciless wastelands of the South. Habrush himself, who had seen many wonders in his lifetime, was also awe-struck and intrigued. Yet when asked his name, the stranger only replied, "Me am wo meeb muster need meb tu am."
This mystery intrigued the men of Orgrimmar even more, and the stranger was welcomed warmly into Halls of the clan. The stranger was noble and agreeable to all he met, and he seemed to enchant with a pleasant mystical aurora all whom he spoke to. His eyes, only, were peculiar, and they seemed to rove wildly as if they were aflame. But the men of Orgrimmar paid little heed to this.
The same evening the stranger arrived, he was invited to dine at the royal table of Habrush. The King was curious and wanted to question his visitor even more. The feast was laid out, and the stranger was given a place of honor at the right hand of the King.
Habrush ate in silence for a few moments, ever glancing at the stranger who remained silent also. Around the table, warriors and nobility talked loudly and gaily of matters of little consequence. Yet all became quiet as it the King turned to the stranger to query him. The King began with a question already asked, "Wut am lat nayme?"
The stranger answered with the same cryptic response, "Meeb am who meeb mayster needs meeb tu am."
"Yet whut does lat wysh fur weeb tu cal lat?"
The stranger was silent for a moment, contemplating this question thoroughly. "Befur meeb muster cam," he replied slowly, "Meeb am know bi uruk as Karum."
The King smiled, thinking himself clever at receiving a forthright response. "Wel met, Karum, ub welcum tu meeb hals." Then for a time the King said no word, and his smile suddenly broke into a grim frown. "Wu am lat mayster?"
Karum the stranger's eyes flared brightly for a moment, but he quickly controlled himself and smiled brightly. "Muybee lat wyl met hym an day," he said enthusiastically. "Heeb am old, uncient som sey, but nub witot his virtues."
"Does heeb rul an kingdum?" asked the King, thinking that he might have found a possible ally; or worse, a new enemy against his realm. "In da souturn desurt?"
"Skahhh," answered Karum sadly, frowning slightly, but said no more of the matter.
The King shrugged, disappointed by the response. Undaunted, though, he changed his questioning to a new approach. "Why hav lat com tu meeb Kingdum? Dit latz mustar sent lat?"
Karum smiled faintly. "Da anser tu lat first qestion am diz: me am her as a amusument. Da anser tu latz secont am yub, meeb mustar willed meeb tu com her."
If Habrush noticed the emphasis on the word willed, he did not show it. He was puzzled over Karum's first answer, me am her as a amusument. "A amusument?" asked the King wondering.
"Yub," Karum answered gaily. "A guft fum meeb mustar. A riddle meeb mustar have sent lat, und me am da riddler."
"U riddle?" asked Habrush incredulously.
"Yub, again. Meeb mustar seek a ally, but only ash wose wisdom am unsurpast. Tonight me shal told da riddle, und a week me shal stay wit lat aftur. Lat hav til da week's und tu anser, fur ten me shal went back tu meeb mustar."
"Und if weeb anser da riddle, ten allies weeb shal becom tu lat master?"
"Nub," answered Karum promptly. "Meeb mustar am cautious und slow tu frindship. Tu latz hals me wil com once an yeer, each tume wid an nuw riddle fum meeb mustar. Lat must prov lat wisdom tu meeb mustar's satusfaction."
"Und wen shal lat mustar am satisfied?" asked Habrush with slight anger, not at all approving of being tested.
"Me now not da thoghts ub meeb mustar. Tu gess wuld am foly. Wenz meeb mustar am satisfid, lat shal now."
"Vy do lat mustar so desire a aly?" inquired the King.
"Tu shure his nowledge," The stranger's words played beckoningly and influentially on the King's ears, "wich am infinite und deep, but unly tu tose wo hav wysdom tu use ut. Ut must nub fal intu da hanz ub fools."
"Nub, ut mustn't!" cried the King zealously, his anger somewhat eased. In fact, strangely, his hard face seemed to soften a bit with the words of the stranger. "Tel meeb, though. Wy did lat mustar not com himself?"
"Lat shal met meeb mustar wen da tim am fit," answered the stranger. "Did me not say latz am old? Da journey tu latz kingdom wuld likli clomp lat. Da eluments ub da desurt am cruel."
"UB curse," King Habrush replied, and laughed. He seemed only mildly distrustful of the stranger now, and felt more jovial and relaxed than he had in years. In fact, the entire court seemed enamored by their curious yet eloquent guest, and all paid him gifts of smiles and friendly nods. All of them were alike in one other respect also, and held but one thought in their minds that evening: the Riddle.
Either the King had forgotten about the Riddle, or was silently musing when to ask the question. Either way, it mattered not, for an impatient young warrior called out, "Blah, felu! Wut riddle hav lat fum da Suth?" This exclamation was met with cheers of approval. Habrush turned to his guest and nodded to him with a hearty smile.
Karum the Stranger stoically gazed around the room at the warriors and courts-men. As he rose from his seat, the room suddenly became silent, and all waited in impatient expectation.
He said in orkish:
Brings death, brings life;
The keeper of peace, the spearhead of strife.
A part of a line, crooked or straight;
His duty is love, His duty is hate.
The stranger retook his seat and was silent. A slight, thoughtful murmur floated through the room. The face of all the men were disturbed, angered that such a simple-worded riddle should be so difficult to comprehend. Even the King looked uncomfortable, as he searched within his mind for an answer, or any other riddle that was similar in nature. He sighed, for he knew his efforts that night would be in vain. Standing, he stated solemnly, "Ut am lat, und meeb mind neds rust. Tomorrow, nub dubt, me shal anser da riddle."
Karum also rose from his chair, and bowed slightly. "Me shal stuy in lat hals for ash week. Ten me shal return tu meeb mustar."
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