Author's Note: This is the first chapter of my first Fanfiction, which is a rough adaptation of an RP done by me and a friend in-game. I'd be glad if you'd take the time to give feedback, so I can see if I'm doing it wrong or right. I plan on writing the second chapter within a week, so you won't have to wait too long for another installment. Please do realize that the length will increase starting with chapter two. The length of this is shorter simply because its the exposition, and also because the events fit well with the length. I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own World of Warcraft or any characters in it.
Vyndrothos carried his staff in hand as he walked towards Falconwing Square, in the destroyed section of Silvermoon City. He was glad to have been accepted by the city as an official priest, and excited for what was to come.
The reason he was headed for Falconwing was unknown even to Vyndrothos himself. In fact, about midway through the trip, he wondered why exactly he was headed there. He didn't have any business in the square. But he didn't stop, and pursued the path to what would certainly change his life, unbeknownst to him.
As Vyndrothos crossed the bridge leading over the corrupted Wretched in the grass below, he wondered if anyone would need his assistance at Falconwing. But his thoughts shifted as he looked further ahead, seeing an unfamiliar figure sitting at one of the benches in the square, near a fountain.
"An orc?" he said aloud to himself. Orcs never, ever came to elvish regions. In fact, he'd never seen one before except in sketches. What in the world was one doing in the middle of Eversong?
He approached the square as the orc's figure became more detailed. He wore dark blue armor decorated with skulls, glowing green in some spots. He immediately came to the conclusion that he was looking at a death knight, one of the servants of Arthas that had broken from his chain of command many years ago. He'd seen a few, but never an orcish one.
As Vyndrothos reached the square, the orc glanced at him but didn't say much. He was wearing a helm that covered everything but his dark eyes. He had two blades on his back, sheathed. Vyndrothos stared for a moment as he walked past the orc, not slowing down. Then, he broke eye contact and continued further into the square.
A few moments later, he glanced back to get another look, and realized that the orc was still staring at him. Abruptly, the orc stood and began to walk in his direction. Vyndrothos stopped and turned completely around, watching the armored being approach him.
The orc reached him and stopped a few feet in front of him.
"Can I help you, orc?" Vyndrothos asked. The orc cocked his head, and then began to chuckle.
"Indeed. You have the guise of a priest, am I right?" he responded. The orc's voice was raspy, but not that of a death knight. A warrior, then?
"Yeah," Vyndrothos said. "I'm new at it though."
"I can tell."
"How?"
"Because you look pretty tense. Ain't you seen an orc before, elf?"
"No, actually, I haven't."
The orc laughed, and then removed his helm to reveal a battle-worn face. He appeared to be about in his 30s or 40s. He had black hair and a white tooth poking out of the right part of his mouth. One eye had a scar going through it, but the eye itself looked functional. His eyes were black.
"I'm Datongar, elf."
"What of it?"
"Hm?" Datongar cocked his head, looking pretty confused.
"What do you want from me, exactly? Are you here to rob me or something?"
"No, nothing of the sort. I'm just curious about blood elves. Come, let's sit somewhere. Can I get you something to drink?"
Vyndrothos' jaw dropped slightly. Why was this random orc talking to him? He must want something.
"Just cut to the chase, what do you want?" Vyndrothos asked.
Datongar's brows furrowed. "I told you, elf, I'm curious and wanted to speak with one of your kind."
Vyndrothos sighed. "Fine, let's go find a bench or something. I don't have anything important to do anyways."
They walked back over to the bench that Datongar had been sitting in. Datongar carried his helm in his right arm and didn't put it back on yet.
"So what do you want to talk about?" Vyndrothos asked him.
"Hm…" Datongar closed his eyes in thought. He opened them again a few moments later. "What kind of fighting do you do?"
"Fighting? I've slain some of the Wretched in the area, and some Mana wyrms, and a few other random creatures along the road."
"Interesting. So you did no fighting before becoming a priest?"
"Well, no… That'd be breaking the law." Vyndrothos said slowly.
Datongar laughed maniacally. "To me you sound pretty weak."
"Weak?" Vyndrothos asked, a bit irritated.
"You mean to claim yourself strong and you've never been in a fight with someone besides beasts? Impossible."
Vyndrothos fell silent.
"You need to go fight someone, ASAP," Datongar said. "Challenge someone."
"What do you mean 'challenge' someone?" Vyndrothos asked frantically.
"Go up to them and say you want to spar," Datongar told him, as if he was telling him how to eat food. "It's really not difficult."
Vyndrothos started to protest, but Datongar held up a hand. "I don't want to hear it. Now pick someone to spar before I pick for you."
Vyndrothos sighed and stood up, cursing his luck for running into this weird orc. He picked some random person in yellow-gold gear out from the crowd and walked towards them. He tapped them on the shoulder, and they turned around, revealing the face of a young elf woman. He hesitated, and then spoke.
"Do you want to spar with me?" he asked in a quiet tone.
The girl who looked to be a paladin made a weird face. "Uh… no?" She turned and walked away briskly.
Suddenly, Vyndrothos heard the orc's voice behind him yell "PANSY" at the top of his lungs as Vyndrothos put his palm to his face and sighed.
"I'll fight you, if you like," a voice said from his right. Vyndrothos looked over to see a blood elf in leather armor standing there with a bobcat, presumably from the forest, at his side.
"Uh… sure." Vyndrothos said haltingly. He heard Datongar cheer from behind, and he glanced back. Datongar ran towards them and hopped onto a nearby bench, standing on it and preparing to observe the fight.
"Hey elf, you can heal yourself if this all goes south, right?" he asked. Vyndrothos nodded.
The hunter spoke up. "So, what's your name?"
"I am Vyndrothos," he said.
"Kiallan is my name," the hunter told him in response. "Well, let's get started then. You can have the first move."
Vyndrothos bowed, and then held both hands up to prepare a smite, and then released it. The holy power smashed into Kiallan, knocking him back a bit but not hurting him too bad. Vyndrothos then used Shadow Word: Pain to hurt him a bit more at the same time.
While Vyndrothos had expected a bow, the hunter reached to his sides and pulled out two small, hand-sized guns. Not pistols, but more like miniature rifles. He pulled the trigger and fired about 3 shots from each gun, 2 of which connecting with Vyndrothos' right leg. He winced in pain and prepared to release another smite on the hunter.
Kiallan's pet bobcat charged forth and bit Vyndrothos after he released another smite on Kiallan, injuring both combatants a bit more. Kiallan fired several more missing shots before the guns started clicking, signaling that he needed to reload.
Vyndrothos shook the cat off and used another smite on Kiallan, ignoring the pet. Then he watched as Kiallan tossed one gun up into the air, and then flicked his wrist downward to open the chamber on his other gun. He reached to his side and pulled a clip of what looked like 5 or 6 shots and pushed it in the chamber, and then flicked his wrist upward to close the chamber. He then caught his other gun, and tossed up the newly reloaded one to repeat the process.
While reloading, Vyndrothos released two more smites on him, hurting him quite a bit. All the while, Datongar watched intently as the fight raged on.
The two combatants exchanged damage, Vyndrothos healing himself and wearing Kiallan down slowly. Just before Kiallan was about to collapse he yelled "Stop!"
His bobcat rushed back over to his side. Vyndrothos cheered, and then realized Kiallan was staring at him with powerful hostility.
"You damn bastard, you fight like a cheap loser," he yelled angrily. "You're just a lame little trainee, you don't know anything about an honorable fight."
Datongar hopped off of the bench and walked between the two fighters. He looked at Kiallan. "If he doesn't know anything about a fight, then why did he beat your ass so bad?"
Kiallan looked as if he was about to explode. He pulled up one handgun and fired two shots straight at Datongar. At speed that would challenge the Old Gods themselves, Datongar pulled one blade from his back and swung it forward, creating a metal clank. Had he stopped the bullets midflight?
Datongar's blade glowed a light green on the tips. Upon closer inspection, Vyndrothos spotted the word "Suffering" spelled out in green glowing light.
"I would advise against that, hunter," Datongar growled. "Or you may make me draw my other blade, and I won't be on the defense this time."
Kiallan just about lost it. He reloaded his handgun and put them both in his holsters. "You two little screw-ups won't hear the end of this. I'll make sure of that." He walked in the other direction, and the two watched as he passed through the gate and out of Falconwing Square.
"Never you mind that sore loser," Datongar said, turning to Vyndrothos. "You made quite a fight for a trainee." Datongar grinned widely.
Vyndrothos grinned as he realized that he had enjoyed that battle more than any other. "Yeah, I guess I did."
"Well, I'm going to head for the inn," Datongar announced. "Where are you headed?"
"It seems a bit too late for me to head back for Silvermoon. I'll probably just stay at the inn as well." The two began to walk towards the inn.
"So what's your story?" Datongar asked. "Why did you go and become a priest."
"It's a long story."
"I like long stories," Datongar said with a grin. "Go."
"Fine… it all started about 10 years ago, when I was merely 8 years of age. There was a small alliance raid on Silvermoon, which triggered the fiery collapse of a small home there. It happened to be my house. I remember waking up to the sight of fire and rubble all around me, and a rock was crushing my leg. I yelled out in pain, screamed for help, but it seemed like ages before anyone came to my aid. Finally, the Regent Lord, Quel'Thalas himself stood above me, and said that it was not yet my time. I blacked out, and when I came to, I was told that my parents were dead."
Datongar's face darkened and the sparkle in his eyes vanished entirely. He listened intently.
"Anyways, the Regent Lord told me while I was recovering that I had priestly potential. And that is the sole reason why I decided to be a priest specifically."
Datongar looked depressed, and he quickly put on his helm, perhaps to hide his emotion.
"I see. Well, all you can do is move forward. Don't dwell on it. Anywho, we should probably turn in."
Vyndrothos spoke up as Datongar walked towards the inn.
"What's your story, then?"
Datongar turned and did not remove his helm. He stood for a moment in the windy air before saying:
"It's a long, long story. One you don't need to hear."
Datongar turned and headed for the inn, and Vyndrothos followed, wondering what would happen next, and what was with this strange orc that he's following around.