Ticonderoga sought out her favorite place to sit - the middle of the middle of the amphitheatre. About halfway up and directly in front of the risen wooden stage. This was the best place, because when the bonfire was lit in the center of the arena, its hearthy blaze cast a golden glow onto the performers. She, like so many of the other cooing fangirls streaming into the theatre, quite fancied one of the feature entertainers.
Jul'zad was a well-known Troll musician and dancer. It was his practice to make trips to the far reaches of war-torn territories to entertain soldiers and boost morale. However, tonight's tour landed him in Orgrimmar to be a part of the Winter Veil celebrations. His specialties ranged from traditional folk songs and exotic renditions to accompanying tribal dances. His shows were always a treat, and hundreds of Orcs, Trolls, Tauren, and Undead had flocked to get their tickets the moment they heard the news of him coming to town.
He sat behind the stage out of view and strummed his nyckelharpa, an instrument similar to a violin, then slung it about his neck to tune it. He was looking forward this performance; his holiday shows always had the largest audiences, which meant more gold when the hat was passed. He scraped his rough fingernails over the strings made of coarse zhevra hair and cringed at the flat tune. Perhaps a little more adjustment was needed. He rosined his bow and slowly pulled it across the filaments.
The Seven Dwarves Comedy Group opened the show with a hilarious sketch involving Greatfather Winter angrily encountering a group of goblins that were set on commercializing the holiday for their own profit. Afterwards, a band of carolers took the stage and brilliantly belted out several favorite festival tunes. When they were done, they threw candies and other treats out into the eager crowd.
The concert organizers knew that Jul'zad would be the highlight, so they wisely placed his performance at the end of the program. This drove the fangirls mad. They wanted to completely skip dinner and cut right to dessert.
But oh, what a sweet dessert he was, and well worth the wait. After an hour of assorted holiday routines, Jul'zad finally took the stage. The other performers cleared a path in a reverent sort of way, and the dead silence in the amphitheatre was deafening. He slowly mounted the stairs with a shy demeanor. It was always his modesty that drove the women wild.
Within his grasp, the polished bone neck of the nyckelharpa gleamed in the flickering firelight, its horsetooth keys like polished marble. His orc assistant took a place backstage on a stool, clutching a large termite-bored didgeridoo.
Ticonderoga leaned forward in her seat. She didn't want to miss a note. She stared at Jul'zad; he truly was unlike any other troll she had ever seen. He didn't have the traditional ratty unkempt trollish hair. It was black as ink and equally as liquid as it fell down his back and around his pointed ears. Many believed he might have some night elf blood in him, just enough to slightly soften his features. Or perhaps he simply knew proper grooming techniques. Ticonderoga didn't care what he was. All she knew was that he was truly beautiful.
Jul'zad sat cross-legged center stage with his head bowed and the nyckelharpa resting his lap. The orc began crooning on the didgeridoo, the haunting drone reverberating throughout the theatre. The troll raised his eyes to the audience and inwardly smiled at the riveted stares of the women.
He was dressed in a long tribal kilt decorated with beads in a variety of geometric patterns. His wrists and biceps were encircled with bands of supple leather, on which there were fire-branded designs. He was shirtless, but the majority of his chest was covered by a broad collar made of decorated porcupine quills. A small section of his hair was tied back with a large swoop feather and a string of beads, and he had several decorative rings embellishing his long tusks.
Off to the side, a pair of young troll girls giggled uncontrollably.
The warble of the didgeridoo continued on, lifting into the night air, and Jul'zad positioned the harpa against his body, angling it outwards slightly with the sling around his neck and shoulders. He held it gently, as if he was bending over a lover. Ticonderoga was dying to be his instrument.
He put rosin on his bow once more...and then proceeded to play. He sang as he drew the bow back and forth, back and forth, his voice delicately lilting with the words. He swayed his body as he depressed the keys, his subtle movements synchronized with the changing pitch of the strings. He was singing a very solemn winter poem, one that entailed a hunter that had to leave his family to hunt for a holiday meal but never returned. It was heart-wrenching, and before long, he could see the eyes of the audience glistening.
His rising and falling voice was deep; Ticonderoga felt as though she was draped with velvet night when his song reached her. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth to his sound...when she opened her eyes, she was startled to see that he was staring directly at her. She blinked as he watched her through the licking flames of the bonfire, still pulling his bow across the stiff strings. The corners of his mouth rose slightly. Seductively. Was he smiling at her? It had to be her imagination.
The song ended on one last long somber note, and Jul'zad got to his feet. Several more orcs ascended the stage with a set of hand drums and a tambourine-like riq. They fired up into a thrumming clannish beat...
Suddenly, Jul'zad flung himself forward and thrust his feet into the air. He walked on his hands several feet to the edge of the stage, where he swayed and twisted. He tucked his legs to his chest and whirled about, his thick fingers clenching and flexing on the splintering wood. He reached down with his bare toes and picked up his harpa, then lifted it up. Positioning it just so across his chest, he continued to balance on his hands and rake his tusks across the strings as he pressed the keys with his toes. The ornamented ivory caught on the strings in a plucking pattern, quite a different sound from the previous silky sweeps of the bow. It was a bouncier, cheerier melody.
Ticonderoga found herself laughing and clapping at the impressive acrobatic display. She was never disappointed by him. When the jovial tune was through, Jul'zad was met with a standing ovation. He stood upright and raised the harpa into the air in thanks. Leaving his screaming fans wanting more, always wanting more, he turned and exited the arena.
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Ticonderoga was in a daze as she headed back to the inn. It was a cold night and her bearskin mantle was providing little warmth. She didn't particularly care though, for Jul'zad's performance had left her cheeks pink with heat. This was impressive, considering she was undead.
She made her way through The Drag to see which shops were still open, for she was in the mood to buy something. It was dark in the covered alley, the only light coming from the smoldering glow of the upstairs dwellings. She had wanted to purchase a Jul'zad souvenir, but the cart was overwhelmed after the show and there was no way she would have been able to push past all the squealing adolescents.
She sighed and continued on her way, staring at the ground as she walked towards the Valley of Strength. A hooded silhouette of someone sitting on a barrel caught her attention; she paused, and the stranger noticed her. There was a clacking of beads as he shifted position.
"Greetings, mon," came a voice, leisurely and dark as molasses.
Ticonderoga coughed. "I'm, er…not a man. But hello in any case."
The stranger rose and approached. "Apologies…it's always hard to see anything in this damned dark alley." He paused, and a smile could be heard on his voice. "You were at my show tonight."
The undead girl froze, completely speechless. Impossible.
Jul'zad reached up and pulled his suede hood back. "I had to escape that crowd," he said, motioning back towards the Valley of Honor. "Bunch of vultures in there. Likely to lose an eye. Or something else. If you know what I mean."
Ticonderoga finally found her voice. "You actually remember seeing me? How…?"
"You were feelin' the music like I do, sweetheart. The rest of those girls were just screamin' 'til they were more purple than night elves."
There was another rush of dead blood to her cheeks.
"Where you stayin' tonight?" the profound, glassy voice asked. "I'll walk you."
Ticonderoga felt like passing out, but attempted to make conversation. "The inn. I..um…wasn't able to make it to the souvenir cart to help support you. You're right; they're a bunch of vultures."
"That's too bad," Jul'zad murmured. "That's money I could have used to buy us a bottle of wine to share." He sighed in feigned disappointment. "Looks like you're buying."
She looked up at him in shock. "You can't be serious! You're…you're famous. Famous people don't associate with random…ordinary…women..."
The troll stopped her. "Why the hell not?"
Ticonderoga could do nothing but shake her head.
"I'll keep the company of whomever I damn well please. To the inn we go, then."
Jul'zad kept his hood up as they entered the establishment. They had beaten the crowds back, but he needed to order quickly. He requested two bottles of agave spirits be sent to his suite on the top floor, then instructed Ticonderoga to follow him.