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Margoz generally avoided walking around alone at night。 You never knew what big and strong person was lurking
to show how big and strong he was by beating up on a lesser target。 Many times； Margoz had been that target。 He
soon learned that it was best to do what they said and make them happy in order to avoid the violence。
But Margoz no longer had that fear。 Or any other kind of fear。 Now he had a patron。 True； Margoz had to do his
bidding； also； but this time the reward was power and wealth。 In the old days； the reward was not being beaten
within an inch of his life。 Maybe it was exchanging one type of gutcrippling fear for another； but Margoz thought
this was working out better for him。
A salty breeze wafted through the air； blowing in off the port。 Margoz inhaled deeply； the scent of the water
invigorating him。 He spoke at least partly true in the Demonsbane： he was a fisherman； though never a particularly
successful one。 However； he did not fight against the Burning Legion as he claimed； but instead came here after
they d been driven back。 He d hoped to have more opportunities here than he d had at Kul Tiras。 It wasn t his fault
that the s were substandard they were all he could afford； but tell the dock authority that and see where it got
you。
Where it got him； mostly； was beaten up。
So he came to Kalimdor； following the rush of people hoping to provide services for the humans who lived there
under Lady Proudmoore。 But Margoz hadn t been the only fisherman to ply his trade； nor was he anywhere near the
best。
Before his patron arrived； Margoz was close to destitute。 He wasn t even catching enough to feed himself； much
less sell； and he was seriously considering just grabbing his boat s anchor and jumping off the side with it。 Put
himself out of his misery。
But then his patron arrived； and everything got better。
Margoz soon arrived at his modest apartment。 His patron hadn t let him move to better acmodations； despite his
pleading the patron called it whining； and unseemly regarding the lack of good ventilation； the poor furnishings；
and the rats。 But his patron assured him that such a sudden change in his status would draw attention； and for now；
he was to remain unnoticed。
Until tonight； when he was instructed to go to the Demonsbane and start sowing antiorc sentiments。 In the old
days； he never would have dared to set foot in such a place。 The types of people who liked to beat him up usually
congregated in large groups in taverns； and he preferred to avoid them for that reason。
Or； rather； used to prefer to avoid them。
He entered his room。 A pallet that was no thinner than a slice of bread； a burlap sheet that itched so much he only
used it when the winter got particularly cold； and even then it was a difficult choice； a lantern； and precious little
else。 A rat scurried across into one of the many cracks in the wall。
Sighing； he knew what needed to be done next。 Besides the inability to move to better quarters； the thing Margoz
hated most about his dealings with his patron was the odor he carried with him afterwards。 It was some kind of side
effect of the magic at his patron s mand； but whatever the reason； it annoyed Margoz。
Still； it was worth it for the power。 And the ability to walk the streets and drink in the Demonsbane without fear of
physical reprisal。
Shoving his hand past his collar to reach under his shirt； Margoz pulled out the necklace with the silver pendant
shaped like a sword afire。 Clutching the sword so tightly that he felt the edges dig into his palm； he spoke the words
whose meaning he d never learned； but which filled him with an unspeakable dread every time he said them：
Galtak Ered nash。 Ered nash ban galar。 Ered nash havik yrthog。 Galtak Ered nash。
The stink of sulfur started to permeate the small room。 This was the part Margoz hated。
Galtak Ered nash。 You have done as I manded？
Yes； sir。 Margoz was embarrassed to realize that his voice was getting squeaky。 Clearing his throat； he tried to
deepen his tone。 I did as you asked。 As soon as I mentioned difficulties with the orcs； virtually the entire tavern
joined in。
Virtually？
Margoz didn t like the threat implied in that onean was a holdout； but the others were
ganging up on him to a certain degree。 Provided a focus for their ire； really。
Perhaps。 You have done well。
That came as a huge relief。 Thank you； sir； thank you。 I am glad to have been of service。 He hesitated。 If I may；
sir； might now be a good time to once again broach the subject of improved acmodations？ You might have
noticed the rat that
You have served us。 You will be rewarded。
So you ve said； sir； but well； I was hoping a reward would e soon。 He decided to take advantage of his
lifelong fears。 I was in grave danger this evening； you know。 Walking alone near the docks can be
You will e to no harm as long as you serve。 You need never walk with fear again； Margoz。
Of of course。 I simply
You simply wish to live the life you have never been permitted to live。 That is an understandable concern。 Be
patient； Margoz。 Your reward will e in due time。
The sulfur stench started to abate。 Thank you； sir。 Galtak Ered nash！
Dimly； the patron s voice said； Galtak Ered nash。 Then all argoz s apartment once again。
A bang came on the wall； followed by the muffled voice of his neighbor。 Stop yelling in there！ We re tryin to
sleep！
Once； such importunings would have had Margoz cowering in fear。 Today； he simply ignored them and lay down
on his pallet； hoping the smell wouldn t keep him from sleeping。
Two
W hat I don t get is； what s the point of fog？
Captain Bolik； master of the orc trading vessel ath ar； knew he would regret the words even as he found himself
almost pelled to respond to his batman s statement。 Does it have to have a point？
Rabin shook his head as he continued his cleaning of the captain s tusks。 It was not a habit every orc indulged in；
but Bolik felt that it was his duty as captain of the ath ar to present himself in the best manner possible。 Orcs
were a noble people； ripped from their homes and enslaved； both by demons and by humans。 Enslaved orcs had
always been filthy and unkempt。 As a free orc living in Durotar under the benign rule of the great warrior Thrall；
Bolik felt it was important to look as little like the slaves of old as possible。 That meant grooming； as alien a
concept as that might have been to most orcs； and it was something he expected in his crew as well。
Certainly it was true of Rabin； who had taken to the captain s instructions far better than most of ath ar s crew。
Rabin kept his eyebrows trimmed； his tusks and teeth cleaned； his nails polished and sharp； and kept decoration to a
tasteful minimum just a nose ring and a tattoo。
In answer to Bolik s question； Rabin said； Well； everything in the world serves some purpose； don t it； sir？ I mean；
the water； it s there to be givin us fish to eat and a way of travelin by boat。 The air s there to be givin us
something to breathe。 The ground gives us food； too； not to mention somethin to build our homes on。 We re
makin boats with what the trees give us。 Even rain and snow they re givin us water we can drink； unlike the sea。
All that means something。
Rabin turned his attention to sharpening Bolik s nails； and so Bolik leaned back。 His stool was situated near the
cabin bulkhead； so he leaned against that。 But fog means nothing？
All it does； really； is get in the way without givin us nothin 。
Bolik smiled； his freshly cleaned teeth shining in the cabin s dim lanternprovided illumination。 The porthole
provided none such； thanks to the very fog that Rabin was now plaining about。 The captain asked； But snow
and rain get in the way； too。
True enough； Captain； true enough。 Rabin finished sharpening the thumb and moved on to the other fingers。 But；
like I said； snow and rain got themselves a greater purpose。 Even if they do get in the way； leastaways there s a
benefit to be makin up for it。 But tell me； sir； what does the fog do to make up for it？ It keeps us from seein where
we goin ；