"By the fiery pits of Orcloria, I am tired of this!" Thraggar Ironfoot roared, his deep, gravelly voice echoing through the bustling tavern. The chatter of patrons and clinking of tankards abruptly ceased as all eyes fell upon the towering orcling. His emerald-green skin, adorned with intricate tribal tattoos, seemed to pulse with the same intensity as his yellow eyes.
Thraggar slammed a heavy fist onto the wooden table, causing the mug of ale to wobble precariously. The tavern owner, a portly human with a balding pate, hurried over, wiping his hands on a dirty apron. "Calm down, my friend," he pleaded, glancing nervously at the oversized battle-axe resting against the wall. "Is there anything I can do for ya?"
The orcling took a deep breath, his chest swelling beneath the ancient chainmail that clung to his powerful frame. "Just give me the strongest ale you have, and keep it coming," he grumbled. The tavern owner nodded hastily and scurried away, eager to placate the irritable warrior.
Thraggar leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the flickering candles on the walls. Memories of battles past danced in the shadows, reminding him of the fiery pits he had left behind. The clank of his mail was a gentle reminder of the freedom he had won and the debt he now owed to the Knights of the Broken Shield.
A small, timid voice broke through his thoughts. "Excuse me, mister?" A human child, no more than seven winters old, peered around the corner, clutching a dirty rag. "Could you... help me?"
Thraggar's expression softened, the fiery spirit within momentarily extinguished. He had always had a soft spot for the innocent, and something about the child's pleading gaze tugged at his warrior's heart. He beckoned the child over with a gentle wave of his hand. "What seems to be the trouble, little one?"
The child stepped closer, trembling. "My sister... she's been taken. They said she's to be sold to the gladiators in Orcara. I don't know what to do!" Tears welled in the child's eyes, and Thraggar felt his rage rekindle. He knew the horrors of the gladiatorial pits all too well.
Leaning in, he whispered, "Fear not, I shall find her. For I too, once knew the taste of that cruel arena's sand. Now, tell me, who took her?"
The child sniffled and spoke through trembling lips. "The Black Claw raiders. They came in the night and took her from our village. They said she had the 'right spirit' for the games."
Thraggar's eyes narrowed, his tusks glinting in the candlelight. "The Black Claw," he murmured, his thoughts racing. He knew of them, a ruthless band of slavers that terrorized the lands. "What is your name, and your sister's?"
"I'm Timmy, and she's Lilly," the child whispered.
Thraggar's hand clenched into a fist. "I will find Lilly, Timmy. I swear it on my axe and the honor of the Broken Shield."
The child's eyes lit up with hope, and Thraggar felt the weight of his promise settle upon his broad shoulders. His past was calling him back, but this time, it was not for his own redemption. This time, it was for a child's future.