Gilneans had always been of a different stock, or at least that's what Genn Greymane had told them for as long as Jacqueline could remember. That was why they had built the wall, after all, and she had never really wondered what was behind it. Who needed what was out there when they were Gilneas?
Gilneas had certainly needed what was out there once the Forsaken struck. The worgen curse had been bad enough; the undead only added insult to injury.
Being a monster wasn't the negative thing that the uninfected would have the populace believe, in Jacqueline's opinion. Armor didn't feel nearly as heavy anymore, and she moved faster in plate now than she could have naked before succumbing to the curse. Her father and brother hadn't been so lucky, of course; death came fairly swiftly to them. As far as Jacqueline knew, though, her mother and sister, uninfected, had made quite a life for themselves as merchants in Stormwind. She herself was perfectly content in Darnassus; the night elves' xenophobia nearly matched the average Gilnean's isolationist streak, and clashing heads was really the only way Jacqueline had ever known how to live.
If she was being generous to herself, Jacqueline might even say that she was building a reputation for herself as unruly, even for a worgen.
She wasn't in Darnassus often, though. Jacqueline was commonly on call for a variety of missions. Despite a general problem with non-Gilnean authority and a bit of a troubling, bloodthirsty streak, the night elves were not above asking for her services as a meat shield. Her reputation notwithstanding, Jacqueline had the loyalty of many a dog, and under such pretense was there a fateful proposition.
Rywen was a priestess, a waifish night elf close to Jacqueline's height, and the one commonly used to approach Jacqueline. The worgen's temperament made it sometimes difficult for the night elves to get what they wanted, but Rywen seemed to have a gift. The only time Jacqueline seemed to smile was when the younger night elf was near.
Rywen had wandered into the Craftsmen's Terrace, in search of her friend, but to no avail. Jacqueline wasn't particularly stealthy (she was only a warrior, no rogue, for certain), but she did have the occasional tendency to disappear. With a sigh and a head shake, Rywen turned around and more or less bumped noses with Jacqueline. The night elf yelped in surprise, and Jacqueline barked her throaty laugh.
Rubbing her nose in a decidedly improper way, Rywen mumbled, "Elune help me, that laugh of yours is a thing of nightmares." Jacqueline rolled her eyes, and Rywen continued, "I need your help."
"What do the esteemed kaldorei wish of me this fine day?" Her mockery did not go unnoted, and Rywen's eyes narrowed.
"The esteemed kaldorei in question is only me. I wanted only to ask for your help in traveling to Ashenvale." That seemed to get Jacqueline's attention.
"What exactly do you need from Ashenvale?"
"The High Priestess requests my aid, but I would rather not travel alone."
"Why not just fly?" Jacqueline's words, for once were genuine, though the blush that colored Rywen's face made it clear she took the words as an insult.
"You of all people know I cannot stand to fly."
"Oh yes, I completely forgot the incident in-"
"Besides the point," the night elf interjected, "I wanted you for my escort, but if you will not, I will find someone else."
"I never said no," Jacqueline snapped, "And I wasn't trying to be petty, I had simply forgotten. I'll be ready within the hour." Rywen harrumphed sourly, but thanked her. "You do know that there is no boat to Darkshore? We will have to fly at least that far." For better or worse, the journey began.
Outside of Darnassus, Rywen was something almost entirely different. While night elves seemed to be pretentious by nature, much of her haughty air fell away the moment they hit the ground in Darkshore. Quickly hopping atop her dawnsaber, Rywen let out an unbridled laugh that almost got Jacqueline to follow suit. Jacqueline's hippogryph was determined to fly, and only through much effort was she stayed enough to walk.
"You're killing her, Rywen. Look how badly she wants to fly."
Rywen scoffed with a flippant hand gesture. "Even if Malina sprouted wings, we would spend our time on the ground." The dawnsaber growled in agreement.
"We could almost have been in Ashenvale by sundown if we had flown," Jacqueline pointed out.
Rywen's jaw dropped, an odd sight combined with her glowing eyes and facial markings. "Perhaps, but if we had flown we wouldn't have had nearly this much time to take in these surroundings."
Thunder cracked. "You say that now, but you are aware that it's about to rain, correct?" Jacqueline asked.
Rywen scoffed again, flippant nature coming on strong since leaving the night elf capital. "You worry too much."
"I'm the warrior; you're the priestess. Which of us do you think is truly in the business of worrying?"
"What is it your people say? Get gabbing or get going?"
Jacqueline rolled her eyes, the hippogryph not taking five steps before feeling the beginning of a sprinkle. "Yes, thank the Light for this scenery."
"Oh, be quiet," Rywen scolded. She was quiet for a moment, and then she perked up. "On the bright side, if we happen upon anything, we make the best team in the world."
And they wondered what Jacqueline saw in the night elf. "Aye, that we do, if only because I can take a beating long enough for you to get a heal or two out." Offended, Rywen gasped, fumbling for words to respond, and Jacqueline's throaty laugh came back in full force. "You're the best healer I know, Rywen, except maybe the High Priestess herself, and you're only a hundred years old."
Rywen blushed at that, ever the modest one, before saying, "Yes, well, you can take quite the hit for someone only fifteen."
Jacqueline hitched an eyebrow up. "I'm twenty-two, Rywen."
"Sorry," she responded sheepishly, "We live so long that I have trouble remembering where in your development you are…" Rywen trailed off. "I suppose that's a compliment though? I know humans at least value looking younger than they really are."
"Take another look at me and tell me anything about me looks human."
"Your eyes do," Rywen said frankly. "I know you have your reputation to worry about. I won't tell anyone that you're not quite as monstrous as you make everyone believe."
Jun'ghan had never been particularly fond of orcs. Everything with orcs always seemed to end up messy, and they had a certain brutality that made Jun'ghan's time with them uncomfortable, to say the least. Most of the Darkspear were glad to ally with orcs, and so was Jun'ghan himself, so long as it was from a distance. Trolls were certainly not afraid of a little bloodshed, but it was somehow different with the orcs, and had only gotten worse since Garrosh Hellscream's ascension to Warchief.
How he wound up on a mission to Ashenvale was a little beyond him. Orcs had no respect for his craft on the best of days, much less on the battlefield. Why bother with a spell when one could just hack it to death? The mage had given up trying to explain long ago.
But somehow, Jun'ghan had found himself on the border between Azshara and Ashenvale, with an orcish hunter and death knight respectively. The death knight in particular was unnerving; there was something about being a servant to the Lich King that Jun'ghan just couldn't stomach, no matter how many came forward stating their heroic deeds.
The troll found himself wondering what the Warchief had been thinking, and why at least a rogue hadn't been sent along with them. This was a stealth mission more than anything after all, and his comrades were not the most subtle, so far as he could see. Perhaps they would surprise him, but that possibility did not seem promising, especially if their target was as skilled as the Warchief had seemed to think.
A search for a night elf priestess seemed one thing. Taking the priestess hostage and getting her back to Orgrimmar alive was another issue entirely. The death knight in particular looked like he had never heard the word "prisoner" before. The hunter, Jun'ghan reasoned, could at least keep pets, and in a roundabout, horrifying way, hostages were a little like pets.
It was some time before they had made it past Astranaar, the intent being to intercept the priestess before she made it to the night elf village and, by extension, into the protection of Tyrande Whisperwind. If they could stop the priestess from arriving, the Horde could press its advantage in Ashenvale, stopping a rather powerful reinforcement from arriving. In the woods, soon after, Jun'ghan began to hear Common.
It had been several years since he had spoken Common; most trolls spoke Zandali among themselves, and even that had begun to fall to the wayside as they had begun to integrate into the Horde and speak Orcish more often. Still, Jun'ghan was still more than capable of understanding it, even if his speaking was subpar.
"An hour's riding more, at most. Think of it, a proper bed." It was very clear that the speaker was kaldorei; the Darnassian accent was hard to miss, and the troll shot a look at his companions, who immediately were at the ready. After a moment's pause, the night elf spoke again, "Would you please change back? Your human form is… somewhat unsettling. I've only ever known you as worgen."
A second voice laughed, and the hunter and Jun'ghan exchanged looks; the Warchief had made it very clear that there should have been just the priestess, an easy target. A second person complicated things.
"What? You're the only person I've ever heard complain that I don't look monstrous enough."
"It's simply unnerv-" A scream punctuated the priestess's thought, and suddenly the hunter and Jun'ghan were very aware of the death knight's absence. Standing over the priestess's body, knocked out cold from a swift blow to the head, the orc was quick to fall himself to a worgen full of fury. An axe to the neck swiftly beheaded him, the worgen snarling with rage, and she kicked his lifeless body away, kneeling down to check on the priestess.
"Rywen…" the beast howled, and as she picked up the night elf, the hunter stood, lodging a bullet in her leg as she attempted to dash the night elf to Astranaar. For good measure, Jun'ghan froze the worgen warrior where she stood, snarling, furious, a terror even while wounded and immobile.
"Should we take her as well?" the hunter asked. It was a question that Jun'ghan had not considered, but the troll found himself nodding.
"If da priestess be worth so much tah da Warchief, having her friend with us could make her more… cooperative." The worgen lashed out, attempting to break free of the ice encasing the ground around her and failing. "She may have set da record for fastest decapitation."
"That was impressive," the hunter admitted as well, "Mahlguld was not very bright, but I did not expect to see him fall that fast to death." With that, the hunter swung up his gun, bashing the still growling worgen in the back of the head. The warrior and the priestess fell to the ground in a heap.
The mage sighed. "Tah Orgrimmar, yeah?" The hunter nodded, and the mage set to work creating the portal that would get them home much quicker than it took them to get to Ashenvale to begin with.
reupload! thanks for reading dolls!