Gurok rubbed at the back of his neck, wiping away the sweat that was beginning to bead there. "I don't know about this," he said gruffly.
He'd had to take off his helmet once the sun had begun to bear down upon the city in full force- the thick metal and stone walls of the Hold held in the heat like an oven. He cradled the plate helm in one arm as he struggled to express his doubts about the infiltrator's intentions.
"Oh, come on, Gurok," the rogue pleaded, sidling up a little closer to the armor-clad orc. "All I'm asking for is a couple of minutes inside."
The Kor'kron Elite fidgeted slightly from the blood elf's close proximity. As always, he smelled faintly of bloodthistle and leather, smoky and spicy and sweet. "'All you are asking' is the infiltration of the inner sanctum of Grommash Hold," he said slowly, his tone stern but his eyes hesitant.
"Two minutes," the slender figure said breathily, already taking a few deft steps toward the door. "What could two minutes hurt?" he wheedled.
Gurok glanced around, checking for any of the patrols scheduled to pass by. "What will you do?"
"Steal something. But nothing important," he admitted with a half-shrug. Gurok got the feeling that an easy grin was hidden behind the mask that covered the bottom half of his face.
The Kor'kron guard had to give credit where credit was due- the rogue was surprisingly honest. He had never lied to him about his intentions before. It was a rather refreshing change from the usual character of the riffraff he dealt with, but it did little to ease his nerves now.
He studied the planks of the wooden floor, trying to decide whether to give in again, whether this time would be the one in which they were caught and dishonored and exiled… or executed. The latter seemed more likely now, with Garrosh in command.
Hellscream's eyes were upon them always, after all- even when he was not present in the city. Gurok almost shuddered at the thought.
"Something old and useless. Or something from one of the sin'dorei. No one will even notice," Arastel assured him, bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently. Gurok knew that he could see the slow changing of the shadows against the far wall, where sunlight fell in golden slants against the harsh, dark metal; the rogue knew the patrol schedule as well as any guard did. "I just need a little supplement to my income. Some quick gold. Then I'll be out of your hair for a while. Figuratively speaking, of course," he added, his dark pupils flitting up to the crown of Gurok's shaved head.
The orc studied him closely, aware of how the small elf was growing anxious as the seconds ticked by. The rogue's stealth could not deceive experienced elites, and not all guards were as forgiving as he was.
Stupid, more like, the orc chastised himself. Not all are as smitten as I am.
"There must be a better way of making gold," he said warningly, his dark amber eyes fixed on the rogue's. They were so green. Striking.
He had spent time in Outland, but had seen little outside of Hellfire Peninsula and Shadowmoon Valley- and even then he had spent most of his time guarding the fledgling outposts. Still, it was enough to become familiar with the eerie green glow of the fel, so vivid against the rest of a dying world turned dingy and dull and lifeless by demonic taint.
And damn him if the elves didn't possess the most infuriatingly captivating fel-green eyes- this elf in particular.
Arastel shrugged at his words of caution. His gaze never lost the quiet pleading, the silent search for consent. "Please?" he tried.
Ah, that word. After a long moment, Gurok gave a low groan and stepped to the side wordlessly.
Arastel gave him a nod and a quick wink before ducking past the hulking orc and slipping into the sanctum of the hold.
Gurok sighed deeply. It wasn't the first time that he had wavered and submitted to the elf and it wouldn't be the last.
A year ago, his post had been his life. He had served as Thrall's guard with the utmost loyalty and rigidity, faithfully guarding the Warchief's Hold against all attacks and intrusions.
The orc could not pinpoint the exact date when he had begun slipping… only that it was some weeks after encountering Arastel in one of Orgrimmar's seedier bars. Quick and nimble though the rogue's fingers were, they were no match for an experienced member of the Kor'kron elite- though the orc had to give him points for being bold enough to try and pickpocket him while he was still in his uniform armor.
Something in the elf had stirred up a bit of compassion within Gurok and kept him from snapping the would-be thief's wrist, and it was that same something that continually left him at the mercy of the rogue's requests.
He was charming, Gurok supposed. It was a curious thing. Orcs weren't charming- they didn't need to be. Gurok couldn't even think of a time that another orc had ever winked at him. Still, he couldn't deny that it was an effective tactic. He could shoot an arrow perfectly straight, cleave a demon in two, and bash his enemies so hard that they staggered helplessly afterward, but he there was no training to prepare him to counter the likes of Arastel's charisma.
The warrior clenched his jaw and counted the seconds, nodding to the passing patrol when they made their rounds. He grew worried when he reached a hundred and twenty with no sight of the golden-haired elf; Arastel was rather punctual, at least when it came to his shadowy work. A rogue with poor timing was short-lived, after all.
Half a minute later, Gurok felt a gentle pressure against his back. He stiffened, unable to even exhale.
"Sorry, sorry. I found something heavy," he heard the elf whisper against his shoulder- Arastel was clearly up on his tip-toes for his breath to be able to hit the back of his neck like this. He suppressed the shudder that threatened to ripple through him at the elf's close proximity. "Thanks, Gurok. You're wonderful."
The orc licked his lips nervously as Arastel slipped past him, feeling a bit heady from the hushed praise. The elf seemed to be weighed down a bit, moving along the walls in a slow crouch with his haul strapped to his back. The Kor'kron guard couldn't make out what it was, but assumed that one of the blood elf dignitaries had just lost a very expensive hookah.
Gurok focused on the rogue's lithe form until he was soon inseparable from the shadows themselves, and even after he continued to stare, lost in his thoughts.
They way that the elf moved reminded him of the prowling cats of the Barrens. He hardly ever saw Arastel's approach- he was, for all his winking and grinning and ribbing, a very good rogue- but he almost always got to watch him leave, and that was something of a reward in and of itself.
It wasn't until he heard a furious voice barking in his ear that he was shaken from his increasingly inappropriate train of thought and brought crashing down into the present.
"It's no wonder they're missing!"
"Captain," he growled as he straightened to meet the grizzled orc's fearsome glare and then saluted in way of acknowledgement. It wasn't like the captain to show up like this, which meant…
Oh, no. Ancestors, no. The orc willed the sweat beading on his forehead to stop, and his breathing to calm, and his limbs to steady. Arastel's work shouldn't have been discovered at all, much less minutes after his flight.
"A pack of draenei could have wandered in here, lit a giant elekk turd aflame, and then danced away for all the attention you're paying," Nuar bellowed, his spittle hitting an unflinching Gurok. He hovered inches from the guard, a harsh sneer curling around his tusks.
"Captain, I was not aware that I was the sole guard of the hold," Gurok replied lowly, trying to keep a dark flush of shame from working its way up to his face. Panic was slowly working through him as his mind raced to determine what had been taken.
Arastel had said 'nothing important', hadn't he? The warrior felt as though his insides had turned to molten lead, sharp jolts of worry making him sweat nervously. Arastel could be a spy, and Gurok might have single handedly delivered him every battle plan within the Hold. What better way to make coin than to sell secrets to the Alliance? The whole destruction of the Horde might be on his shoulders.
If not that, then something else. There were great relics within Grommash Hold, things of power and magic that could be devastating in the wrong hands; there were cultural treasures, far too important for a price, though the goblins would doubtlessly affix them with one; and for one terrifying, fleeting moment, Gurok wondered whether the rogue had somehow gotten away with Gorehowl.
Seemed unlikely, considering that the Warchief practically slept with the axe and took it with him whenever he ventured out of the Hold, but the warrior's heart still clenched at the thought.
"You are the guard stationed immediately outside of the Warchief's armory, cur," the captain sneered. He shook his head in disgust, the action sending his graying ponytail swinging. "And ancestors help me, unless Hellscream's axes are returned to their racks before he gets back from Ashenvale, there will be fel to pay, Bloodtusk."
"His-his axes? The Bleeding Crescents are missing?" Gurok was a full-grown male, a seasoned warrior, a demon-slayer, but he still couldn't keep his voice from cracking. The Warchief may have Gorehowl, but his old axes were still well-loved and tenderly cared for- a link to Draenor and the Mag'har and very much a point of pride for the son of Hellscream.
"No! No, nothing is missing," the captain answered with a warning growl, grabbing a fistful of Gurok's tabard and tugging him forward until they were nose to nose. The older orc shifted his weight, looking both angry and uncomfortable. "Understand?" he added lowly.
Gurok nodded sharply. As the captain slowly loosened his hold on him, he felt like he could breathe again. "I will… I will retrieve them before their absence is noted, Captain."
Nuar snorted in approval. "You are relieved of your duties until you do so, Bloodtusk. Hellscream is due back in two days. Recover them before then," he ordered as he turned on his heel, "or don't bother coming back."
Cursed elf. Damned elf. That… scourge-ridden, fel-snorting, sticky-fingered elf!
Gurok exhausted his knowledge of insults and profanities as he made the long, unpleasantly sweltering walk from Grommash Hold to his house. The orc sighed heavily, doubting very much that he would still have a place in the Kor'kron by this time tomorrow. And when Hellscream found out…
He resisted the urge to punch a loudmouthed goblin hawking some severely discounted explosives on the side of the street.
When Hellscream found out, Gurok would wish that he had been stomped by a fel reaver back on Draenor. There was no way around it.
And he would throttle the elf when he found him.
He had let Arastel get away with so much and all he had expected in return was the bare minimum of decency. He held no illusions of the rogue turning noble and chivalrous and walking away from his life of crime, but he had thought there was an unspoken agreement that Arastel would not blatantly screw him over.
But apparently truegold letter openers and the sin'dorei diplomats' fine silverware weren't fetching enough gold on the black market for the rogue's liking, and apparently the solution was to start raiding the Warchief's armory.
Gurok gnashed his teeth, earning him a frightened look from a young blood elf adventurer.
He had let the elf have his way, and in return he got to feel his heart flutter and his sluggish pulse quicken in a way that not even battle could replicate. He knew that it was foolish, and that he had brought it upon himself for letting himself get smitten with such a rogue and trusting him so fully, but the disappointed ache in his chest called for some sort of retribution.
He let his thoughts linger on ways to get back at the deceitful sin'dorei, but eventually the withering heat of Durotar won out. The sweltering temperature temporarily distracted him from the horrible situation at hand- it was hard to be righteously angry when it was so oppressively hot.
The streets were nearly empty, the afternoon sun having driven most people into the shady confines of their homes or businesses. Gurok made purposeful strides toward his own home, nestled in the Valley of Honor, eager to reach the shade and familiar comfort of home.
He slipped inside and pulled off his tabard and armor. His job required that he wear a great deal of protection and carry a heavy pair of axes, and while he did not wish to walk across Orgrimmar unarmed, he dared not simmer out in the heat in full plate.
Instead, he slipped into a mix of chainmail and leather, enjoying its give and flexibility and lightness. He grabbed two large daggers from his chest of weapons and slipped them into his belt, right next to a pouch containing just enough coin for a few drinks.
He'd need something to pass the time while he waited for the elf to turn up, and Ancestors knew he needed a bit of brew after the turn of events today.
Tablah's bar was little more than a large, round hut perched on stilts within the Valley of Spirits, but Gurok was fond of it. It was soothing- the gentle lapping of the water beneath them was calm and rhythmic, and its position within the winding canyon ensured shade and coolness on even the worst days of summer. The place was dim and dark without being seedy, quiet without being suspiciously so, and always kept his favorite beers on tap.
It was typically frequented by trolls, but having served alongside Tablah in Thrallmar, Gurok felt as welcomed here as any of the Darkspear. It wasn't very popular with other Kor'kron guards, or other orcs in general, actually, making it a very nice place to get away from his comrades from time to time.
"Good ta see ya, mon," the lanky, blue-skinned troll greeted as Gurok stomped in. "Hey, don' be crackin' ma floors now."
"Sorry," the orc grunted as he approached the bar on the far side of the room, now taking care to walk softly- the place was, thankfully, quite empty, or else he was certain he might have startled some other patrons with his kodo-like tromping. He pulled his coin pouch from his belt and dumped the contents on the counter.
Tablah merely looked at him for a few moments before sighing and sweeping the silvers into a jar. "Ya look like a witch docta' what gone an' lost his voodoo, mon," the troll said with a shake of his head. "Tell ol' Tablah what be goin' on. Maybe I can help do sometin' bout it den."
The orc grumbled under his breath.
The troll grinned and cupped his ear as he leaned forward.
"Trouble with the captain. With the elf," he added reluctantly.
Tablah had produced a ridiculously large stein and filled it to the brim with frothy beer within seconds. "What'd I tell ya? Eh, mon?" he said as he passed the mug to Gurok. "Are ya gonna tell me da details, or do I gotta wait till ya drunk to pry dem out?"
Gurok reluctantly informed the troll of the happenings of that afternoon, his frown growing deeper at every interjection of 'I told ya so, mon'.
"Dems crafty elves, mon. Told ya as much," Tablah said. He let his eyes slip shut as he nodded sagely, his dark red braids bobbing with the motion.
"Yes," the orc said sourly. "So you did." He shifted his weight to his other foot and grunted. "He hasn't been in here yet, has he? I need to hold his head under the water outside until he admits where he stashed those things," the orc growled.
"Nah, not yet. But he comes aroun' late," Tablah said as he idly stroked his one remaining tusk. He grinned savagely. "Hey, lemme watch when ya do get down ta da business, eh? I can' prove nuttin', but I swear dat elf keeps stealin' ma mugs."
Gurok whiled away the hours, nursing the various drinks that Tablah provided him with and wishing he had something better to do than wait for Arastel to possibly show up.
Like other shady sorts, Arastel was off of the records. Gurok had no idea where the elf lived (if, indeed, he called any place home at all) or where he might spend his time, aside from the few places that he had observed the rogue frequenting in the past.
The elf had taken to visiting Tablah's bar within the last few weeks, and so Gurok sat at his usual table (one of a few that the troll had brought in just for large patrons like him, who required significantly more support than his typical troll and goblin customers) with his back to the wall and his gaze trained on the entrance.
He watched trolls come in droves after sundown, filling the room with clinking and talking and laughter, with a handful of goblins and tauren mixed in. As he scanned the crowd, he felt very much like he was on duty again.
The place was busy. Gurok noted with a smile that Tabah's business had picked up substantially. Soon he would need to hire a few hands to help tend to the customers.
When his mug had gone dry for a fourth or fifth time- Tablah never kept track of his tab, so neither did he- Gurok noticed how swamped the troll bartender was and simply went to the bar and reached over to refill his mug himself. This brew was something of tauren make; it was mild and sweet and reminded him much of Mulgore's grassy fields.
He had quested there, once, long ago. A tauren hunter named Dala had run into him- quite literally- as they both worked their way through one of the pigmen's winding caves, and they had taken to adventuring together all throughout Mulgore and the Barrens together.
She had shown him the budding yellow flowers that her people sometimes chewed while on the hunt to stave off hunger, delicate and mildly sweet, much like this brew. They had nibbled on the petals as they rested in between kills, and at her behest he had taken off his boots to feel the lush grass against his feet; it was so unlike anything he had known in Durotar or the Barrens.
But that was a long time ago, and she was dead and he was lingering at the bar and staring into space like one of the haunted Northrend veterans. The orc shook his head and plodded back to his chair to resume his watch of the door.
"What are you up to?" a familiar voice asked from somewhere above his left shoulder.
The orc glanced up and saw the lithe little rogue hanging from the rafters by the window, clinging to the ceiling like some impish little bat.
A frown settled over his lips at the sight of the vexing elf- the chink in his armor, the cause of his current predicament, the bane of his unremarkable life. The rogue was lucky that he was out of reach, and that Gurok felt just slightly too drunk and wobbly to stand up on the table and lunge at him, for the urge to box him right on those long, bouncy little ears grew overwhelmingly intense for a moment.
After a few long seconds, Gurok felt a torpid calm return to him. He had spent the last few hours dreaming up ways to punish the thoughtless elf and reclaim Hellscream's axes, but now, confronted with Arastel in the flesh, he found his resolve weakening. The elf's presence had a tendency to do that to his resolve. It was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with.
Gurok grunted and pulled his recently refilled mug closer; he sipped at the thick layer of foam that threatened to spill over the sides, eyeing the blood elf as he considered a course of action. "Drinking," he said at last, still undecided as to how to handle the unscrupulous rogue. "And looking for you."
The elf made no sound as he slipped from the rafters. Glancing around, the orc realized that he probably hadn't been noticed crawling around on the ceiling at all. Blast him for actually being a good rogue.
He could smell Arastel draw near. Silent though he was- padding along on sure, nimble feet- he could not disguise his scent. The air always seemed to change when the elf arrived, as if making space to accommodate his overwhelming presence.
His smell flooded the air, crisp and warm and tangy, like leather left to sit in the sun. Gurok's ears rang and his skin tingled. Was it normal for a rogue to be overwhelming? Shouldn't they, as masters of stealth and sneaking, be underwhelming?
What does that have to do with anything? he asked himself, feeling his brow creasing. How many of you have I had? he asked as he glared at the stein.
"I am a little drunk," he said aloud.
"I thought as much," the rogue said with a hint of amusement.
He felt Arastel settle into the chair next to him. His slender legs were close enough for Gurok to feel their heat, but never once brushed against his own.
"It's because of you," he continued, though he wasn't sure why. His tongue felt thick and heavy, and then all he could think of was the elf's tongue, small and pink as it darted out to wet his lips on Durotar days so hot that they could make the elves' soft, delicate skin crack.
"Oh?" the elf asked, his slender eyebrows knitted together in confusion.
Arastel seemed genuinely puzzled, and that infuriated Gurok.
"Yes," he hissed, slamming one of his fists against the table, momentarily startling the whole bar. As the chatter and conversation quickly resumed, he continued. "You lied to me. You used me, stealing those axes," he growled, whipping his head around to face the elf, who had suddenly sombered. "I've… I had half a mind to tan your hide," he added, fighting off the slur that was starting to work its way into his speech.
"They noticed they're gone?" the rogue asked quietly, his brow furrowed with concern. "And they're upset?"
"They knew five minutes after you left," Gurok said icily. "And of course they're upset. I'm upset. You can't just… take things from Garrosh Hellscream," he sputtered. "Don't elves know that? Everyone else knows that. Don't you?" he hissed.
"Hellscream?" Arastel whispered, his normally golden skin draining of color.
"Yes. Hellscream's axes. Didn't you know?" Gurok asked haltingly. "Those were his old ones from Outland. The Mag'har made them. They're traditional-"
"N-no, of course I didn't know," the elf said at once, looking nearly as flustered as the orc felt. "How would I know that? They were just sitting on a workbench in the armory-"
"They were taken down to be polished," the orc groaned, his head already aching and his rage beginning to simmer again. "Next time, don't steal something unless you know its value. Actually, no," he added, leaning forward until his nose was inches from the rogue's. "There won't be a 'next time'. You profited on my foolishness, but no more. You're going to give me back Hellscream's axes and then I never want to see you near Grommash Hold again."
The elf swallowed thickly and then nodded once. "I… I sold them already. I can try to get in contact with the buyer again. I… I'll get them back," he said hurriedly.
The orc nodded slowly. "You will. And I will come with you. I need to make sure this gets done," he rumbled.
Arastel pressed his lips together, his normally grinning mouth thinning into a sharp line. "I understand."
Getting the elf's cooperation was far less difficult than Gurok had imagined it would be. In a way, he was disappointed. It would have been much easier to continue to rage at the elf had he not been so willing to oblige him. Had he not looked so guilty and apologetic.
The orc shook his head and reminded himself that Arastel had used him repeatedly and that it would likely cost him his position this time. All in all, he would end up worse off while the elf would doubtlessly find another guard to charm.
"We should move quickly. Are you well to walk?" the elf asked after a minute or so, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I am fine enough," the guard said at once. He would sober up quickly- he always did. And while that had been an inconvenience in times past, when he had to spend twice the coin that others did on alcohol just to stay properly drunk, it would now work in his favor. "Lead on, elf."
But the axes had already been sold- not once, but twice. A little bribery and intimidation had gotten them the name of the most recent buyer, and with any luck the weapons might still be in the possession of an enterprising young goblin by the name of Betila.
It was a long and awkward walk to the sketchy corner of Orgrimmar that the goblin operated out of. Gurok tried to hold on to his indignation and anger as he clomped alongside the little elf, but by the time they reached her door he was mostly exhausted.
A pair of large, yellow-tinged eyes peered at them from behind a slat when they knocked. A female goblin's bored, nasally voice greeted them. "What's your business?"
Arastel took a step closer and leaned in, and Gurok wondered if the handsome grin he was sporting would carry in his voice. "We're here about the axes you recently acquired," the rogue said in a low, pleasant tone.
He was met with silence.
"We would like to buy them- take them off of your hands," he said with an easy shrug. "We'll give you whatever you paid for them and then some," he added with a wink.
"No."
The elf straightened up, his features stiffening just the slightest bit. "You might reconsider after learning of their past. You see, these weapons were stolen. From Garrosh Hellscream. The Warchief," he clarified, frowning when the goblin seemed unfazed by this fact.
"Yeah, I know. Any idiot could see that these are his old axes."
That took the wind out of Arastel's sails. Gurok pushed the indignant rogue aside and put his face up against the slat. "Listen, goblin. I'm of the Kor'kron-"
"Then it's your fault these things got stolen in the first place, isn't it?" she interrupted, meeting the warrior's sharp gaze unflinchingly. "Not. My. Problem."
"Open this door at once!" the orc ordered.
"No," she sneered, her eyes and tone mocking.
Gurok felt himself being shoved back by the rogue. Arastel squeezed himself between the warrior and the door, leaving the orc torn between yelling at Betila and concentrating on the elf flush against him.
"You'll be well compensated," the rogue said hurriedly. "Fifty gold over whatever you paid for them."
"Sorry, hon. I already got a buyer lined up and he's offered me a small fortune for these puppies." Betila cocked her head apologetically. "No buybacks."
"Betila. Betila," Arastel said in the most dignified yet pleading tone that Gurok had ever heard. "It's… rather important," the rogue said with a hint of a smile. "Perhaps we could outbid this other person."
"Unlikely. Now go take your roguish good looks and charming persuasiveness elsewhere, pal. It's not gonna happen."
Arastel frowned deeply at the rebuff, glancing up to Gurok for direction.
The orc groaned, wondering if the handsome rogue had received so little rejection in his life that he had no idea what course of action to take if his looks and personality didn't immediately sway people to his side.
"You are a cunning businesswoman," the orc conceded as he stared the goblin squarely through the slat. "Perhaps… we could arrange some manner of trade," he said with an attempt at diplomacy. He felt reasonably assured that if presented with a good enough bargain, the goblin would hand them over.
"Trade, huh?" They could see her tapping her chin with one long, purple-nailed finger. "What sort of trade did you have in mind?"
He shrugged his broad shoulders. "Some sort of service. I am a skilled guard and good with an axe or sword. Surely you have need of such things."
"A warrior? Hired blades of your kind come cheap, friend," she said with a hint of apology. "This buyer's apparently got quite a thing for our Warchief. He's offering me upward of eight-hundred gold for this addition to his collection. I need a competitive offer," Betila said, looking expectantly at the two of them.
"I… do not have that sort of gold." Gurok shifted uncomfortably. Service in the Kor'kron was a matter of honor and pride, not a career aimed at earning coin. "I could- I have saved nearly two-hundred. If you would let me owe you, I could pay you the full sum over time," he suggested, hoping he sounded less desperate than he was.
"Look, you seem like a nice guy and all," she began, sounding both a little impatient and a little sorry, "but it doesn't make business sense, y'know? That's all. It's just business. Unless you can get together-"
"I have five-hundred," the elf said suddenly.
The goblin and the orc both turned to stare at him, the latter doing so with a slackened jaw.
"Excuse me, handsome?" Betila said at once, sounding a little breathless.
"I have five-hundred gold. Right here in Orgrimmar, too- you could have it straightaway. That's seven-hundred between the two of us. Plus his services. Plus mine. More than a fair trade, don't you agree?"
Gurok could see the goblin crunching the numbers and weighing her options. Her head bobbed once, slowly, and then a second time with more resoluteness. "Alright. Okay. That could work," she said, her eyes crinkling with a smile. "Let's get this all worked out in writing first, shall we? Then you can bring me your gold and I'll front you the axes. Then you both owe me one week's worth of work or one life-threatening task. Whichever I require."
As soon as the orc nodded, the sounds of numerous locks and bolts being undone could be heard. As he was let inside, Gurok felt a quick, fluttering sense of elation at being so close to returning the Bleeding Crescents.
Hope began to well up inside him, though he knew it unwise to let it do so. Perhaps he wouldn't lose his job. Maybe everything would work out. Arastel certainly seemed true to his word of aiding him in retrieving the axes.
Gurok couldn't entirely fathom why the elf would be willing to offer up so much gold on his behalf. Perhaps he was just terrified of Hellscream. He couldn't blame Arastel if so- Gurok himself found the Warchief quite intimidating. Still, regardless of the motivations, it was an offer that the warrior was grateful for.
He couldn't help but stare at the odd, confounding elf with a bit of admiration as he scribbled out an IOU and signed away his next week.
They walked in silence to his home first, clinging to the sparsely lit walkway through the residential area of the Valley of Honor.
Arastel stood quietly by as he went about collecting pouches of coins from all of his hiding places within the house. The orc couldn't find it in himself to be concerned about the thief seeing- after all, these were his life's savings. In their entirety. There would be no gold left to steal after tonight.
"You have a lovely home," the elf commented quietly as they readied to leave.
Gurok was ready to snarl at him, so used to dealing with the visiting blood elf diplomats and their condescending 'compliments'. But Arastel was generally quite sincere, unlike his obnoxious brethren. It was one of the reasons he had liked the elf in the first place.
"It is… enough," he said awkwardly.
The elf nodded and moved to touch a wooden carving of a wolf that rested on his table. "Did you make this?"
He grunted and nodded. "And the table as well."
"Oh," the rogue said in surprise, stooping to better examine the piece of furniture. "Impressive. You could do well as a carpenter."
Gurok waved off the flattery. "It is only a hobby of mine."
"Doesn't make you any less skilled," Arastel mumbled as he ran his fingers across the table.
"Let's go," the warrior sighed, opening the door and beckoning the rogue to exit. "I'd like to take care of this quickly."
Gurok couldn't deny that a part of him was excited to finally see where the elusive rogue made his home.
He had only been to Silvermoon once before. Though he generally felt very out of place there and didn't care much for elven culture, he held a slight fascination for the exotic flair of the city. It was strange and soft and luxurious, so unlike everything he had ever known.
He had expected Arastel's home to have some of the same touches as the brothel he had visited in Silvermoon- gauzy curtains, plush carpets, and more pillows than could possibly be necessary. Lingering smoke, maybe, and candles that might be lit by magic. One of those enchanted brooms, perhaps.
He was quite disappointed by the dump that Arastel led him to.
If this was where the rogue had been living for the past half a year, then he supposed it only made sense that he would be so impressed with his own tiny but comfortable abode.
Arastel made his home in a tiny room within a haphazardly constructed building in the goblin slums, which contained only a bedroll, a variety of weapons, a sizeable pile of leather scraps, a bag with various beauty products spilling out of it, and a stack of mugs that looked suspiciously similar to the ones used in Tablah's bar.
Arastel grabbed a pouch from behind a loose chunk of wall and then turned back to the orc. "The rest I'll need to go to the bank for. You can come with if you like, or you can wait here. I'll get some breakfast while I'm out."
"I will wait, if you don't mind," he said quietly, having felt thoroughly drained for the last few hours.
"That's perfectly fine," Arastel said with a tentative smile. "Make yourself comfortable," he murmured as he slipped out.
Gurok nodded slowly as he surveyed the tiny room.
He sat down and rested his back against one of the walls, letting his eyes slip shut. It had been a long night preceded by a terrible day, and he was worn.
He had expected Arastel's scent to be strongest in this place, but perhaps he did not spend as much time here as Gurok had supposed. He must drift around the city, coming here only to sleep. Home in the barest sense of the word.
Not that he could blame the elf. It was not an inviting place, and the smell of the slums pervaded everything. Damp and faintly sour, with an underlying note of… gunpowder? Probably. Goblins.
It was a strange place. Not a place for Arastel to be. It didn't suit him, and the orc found the thought of the grinning, devious little rogue being cooped up in this place distasteful.
He fell asleep to thoughts of Silvermoon, and he awoke to the pungent smell of cheese.
He lurched forward, blinking rapidly as he tried to recall his location.
"Relax," he heard a voice say softly- the voice, his mind corrected, and for a moment his heart leapt wildly. Then his mind corrected that, too, reminding him that this instance of waking up to Arastel's voice was not the sort he daydreamed about.
"I was tired," he explained with a stretch.
"So I saw," the elf replied with a soft grin. He handed the orc a chunk of bread topped with a wedge of cheese.
Gurok took it gratefully, bowing his head slightly. "You had no trouble getting the gold?"
"No, none," Arastel said with a half smile.
He looked tired. There were dark half-moons under his half-lidded eyes, and underneath all of the freckles he seemed to have gone pale. Gurok realized that the elf had stayed up all night on his account.
"Thank you. For not… just leaving." The orc rubbed at his broad jaw, feeling stubble already coming in. "For, uh, sticking around and helping me with this. And agreeing to all that work. And the gold. All of that."
The elf shifted from his crouching position, settling down on the floor across from Gurok. "Of course. It is, as you said, my fault," the rogue said with an apologetic look. "It's really the least I can do… to help you keep your job. If they will even let you," he added, biting his lip.
The orc knew that he should have been more upset at the mention of his possible dishonoring and dismissal from his position, but Arastel's reddened lips were very distracting. "I… well, it is done. All that matters is fixing what can be fixed."
Arastel nodded slowly. "You are a most reasonable person," he said as he nibbled on his own piece of bread. "I know that it means less- words, I mean, in comparison to action- but I am sorry. For whatever that is worth."
"I appreciate that," the orc said at once. He nodded as he finished chewing a bit of cheese. "I did not anticipate… you have been very forthright and helpful. You have done more than I would have expected. Not just from you, but from anyone. Most people wouldn't have tried this hard to put things right."
The elf stared at him for a few long seconds. It made Gurok slightly nervous, but he figured that after all the times he had stared at the elf he had little room to complain about it.
They ate their breakfasts in silence, Gurok staring at his boots and trying to ignore the pointed glances that the elf kept giving him.
"I know what they say about me," the elf said once they had both finished eating. He was not looking at Gurok now, but staring up at one of the walls. "And people like me," he added with a soft frown, his slender, golden eyebrows knitted together thoughtfully. "But, so you know, I wasn't just using you. I mean, it was a very nice setup, I will not deny that," he said quickly, "but I was not… friendly to you because of that. I'm not that horrible… and I would rather stay in your good graces than make off with a bit more gold."
One side of Gurok's mouth turned up at that. "It was a lot of gold, though, wasn't it?"
"For those axes? Yes," the rogue said with a quick smile. "I handed them off for four-hundred. I would have held onto them longer had I known some moronic fanatic was willing to shell out over eight-hundred for them, though." He let out a low whistle.
The orc gave him a nod and a small smile. "So a hundred of that gold was from your own savings? Out of the five-hundred for Betila," he clarified, nodding in the direction of the sizable sack of coins.
"Yes. I consider it my fine," the elf said, giving the gold-stuffed bag a soft pat, "for getting greedy. You stuck your neck out for me and I, ah, well… I did something stupid."
"It happens," the warrior said after a long pause. He smiled grimly.
"What if they make you leave the Kor'kron?" Arastel asked suddenly.
"You're worried about that?" the orc asked with raised brows.
"Of course I am," the elf snapped. He turned away from Gurok and stared resolutely at the wall. After several seconds his shoulders sagged and he slumped dejectedly. "I mean, of course. I got you into this bind. I don't have any way to make it up to you, really, but I do have a cousin in the trade business, and they always need guards for their caravans. It wouldn't pay very well at all, but if you have no other prospects…"
"I will keep that in mind."
"Should we head back to Betila now?" the elf asked after a few minutes.
The orc waved off the words. He was a bit worried for time, true, but Arastel looked exhausted. He never seemed particularly well rested to begin with, as though he was always running on two or three hours of sleep. Which he might have been, the orc supposed.
It seemed that last night's deprivation of rest had hit the little elf hard, and he was loath to march him across town. "An hour will not hurt anything," the orc said gruffly.
"An hour… an hour sounds nice," the rogue said slowly, his head tipping back and his eyes fluttering shut.
Gurok stared at the elf's bare neck in unconcealed fascination- long and pale and- yes, lined with the faintest of scars. The orc felt along his own face, his fingers finding the curve of raised, discolored flesh that stretched from his jaw to the corner of his left eye.
Different sorts of scars for different sorts of folk. It looked as though some other rogue had tried to kill Arastel in their typical underhanded manner, slipping up from behind and slitting the throat, never even looking their victim in the eye.
He felt along the scar across his cheek again. It was one of many that he had, but perhaps his proudest- earned in single combat against a dwarf warrior when he was young. The dwarf had been his first taste of battle against the Alliance, and he did not mind it one bit. Even as he felt the warrior's axe catch him in the jaw and sweep up across his face, he felt a grudging and growing respect for the short pink-skin and the rest of his people.
Arastel looked so peaceful there, slumbering lightly in a sitting position, his arms wrapped loosely around his knees. Sometimes it was difficult to recall that he was actually older than the orc and had seen just as much, if not more, bloodshed.
His hair reminded the orc of the tall, golden grasses of the Barrens and how they swayed gracefully as the wind blew across the plains. It was fine and soft-looking, and sometimes when he got close enough he could smell that it was clean and scented with peacebloom and one of the milder varieties of Stranglethorn vanilla. Only sometimes, though- just as often, it only smelled of him. Clean like rainwater and mostly masked by leather and maybe smoke.
The orc figured that the perfumed soap only got used when he had no jobs lined up. Scent could be a huge giveaway in a line of work like the rogue's, although Gurok doubted most of his potential victims were as attuned to the elf's aroma as he was, picking up the slightest hint like a worg hot on the blood trail.
Gurok exhaled silently, not wanting to accidentally wake his companion with a sigh.
There was nothing to do in this room but look at the sleeping elf. Not that that was necessarily bad. Arastel was beautiful. Not in the way the orcish men and women that he had eyed while growing up had been beautiful. Orcs were hard muscle and strong planes, as bold, aggressive and blunt in love as they were in all else. They were beautiful as mountains were, for dominating the skyline and drawing the eye through sheer force of presence. Stark and proud and fierce.
Arastel reminded him of Dala, the tauren hunter from his youth. He did not seem spiritual, as she was, but there was a familiar sense of calm and flexibility with him, an easy sort of joy. A willingness and open mindedness that he had found endearing in Dala. They were like winding rivers and babbling brooks- more easily overlooked, but a pleasure to be around once discovered.
They probably would have liked each other, he thought with a small smile.
At once the elf startled awake, his brilliantly green eyes snapping open as he jolted up.
Gurok shrank back for an instant, his ears growing hot. For some reason he worried that the elf had been privy to his thoughts, that he had been disturbed from his slumber by the realization that an orc was investing far too much time in contemplation of him.
It was impossible, he knew- Arastel was no mind reader. Still, he was glad that his thoughts had not been of a lewd nature. How much more awkward that would feel.
"I am sorry," the elf said blearily. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and Gurok's attention was drawn to the smattering of freckles there. "Did I oversleep?"
"Not at all," the orc mumbled, glancing up at the tiny hole in the wall that passed for a window. "Has not been a full hour, even."
"Well, now is as good a time to go as any. The construction will start up again soon, and there's no sleeping through that racket," he said as he rubbed at his eyes. "Just let me clean up first."
Gurok stood and stretched out his cramped limbs while the elf washed his face and brushed out his hair before pinning it up in a bun.
He felt bad for staring at the rogue as he readied himself, like he was trying to look in on something personal. His gaze darted around before settling on the massive bag of gold sitting in the middle of the room.
It looked hefty. He wondered at how safe they would be lugging that across town. Perhaps we had better divide it up into a few bags, he thought.
Quite a lot of gold for living in such sparse conditions. He had to wonder at the rogue's choice of living space when he was clearly making a substantial profit with his thefts from the hold.
"Are you hoping to gain something by glaring at that bag?" the elf asked with a crooked smile.
"You hoard your gold," the orc commented with a careful look. "Like a goblin. Why don't you spend it on somewhere nicer to live?"
The elf's cheeks and ears grew red. "It would sound silly to you."
"I don't think it would."
"It is… silly."
"I am even more curious now than before," Gurok said with a slight tilt of his head.
Arastel sighed. "I took up leatherworking some time ago. You know, just to be able to fix my clothes and make my own from time to time. I don't have the mastery of a professional, of course, but… I'm not bad at it."
"Did you make these?" the orc asked, gesturing to the elf's attire.
Arastel laughed. "Well, all of it except for the gloves. I can't quite figure them out, to be honest," he said with a slightly embarrassed grin. "They always end up looking like I made them for a troll or a tauren… as an aside, I am much sought after for my leatherworking skills by the druid community. Perhaps that will be my niche market."
The orc smiled softly.
"Anyway, I… well, I don't want to do this forever. Adventuring and thieving. I liked it. Seeing the world, killing new and exciting monsters, meeting fun and interesting people that would later betray me. It was very nice. But what I would really like to do is just… quit. And open a leatherworking shop."
"In Orgrimmar or Silvermoon?"
"Orgrimmar," the elf said with a wistful look. "I wouldn't turn my nose up at a location in Silvermoon, but I haven't been back there in a very long time. Doubt I'd be welcome, besides. And Orgrimmar's just better all around anyway- easier to come by leather, more traffic, fewer snotty city guards all but prostrating themselves in front of every paladin to saunter past. Business would be good here."
"Hmmm." Gurok took a moment to let his gaze rove up and down the elf, thankful for the excuse of appreciating his craft. The leather was pleasing to the eye, with swirled designs carefully tooled into the material and dark studs dotting the edges. And it fit. Oh, how it fit. Suddenly, the way that his pants and chest piece always seemed to cling to every inch of him made sense- the rogue tailored his own clothing, and he did so almost sinfully well.
"This set is getting a bit worn out," the elf sighed, running hands over the material covering his thighs almost sadly. "I can only repair it for so long before it must be replaced."
Gurok was thankful that he caught himself before he asked what the rogue did with his old clothes because, well, that was an odd and perverted thing to ask. But he still wanted to know. Purely for the sake of knowing. Not for collecting.
"Well," the orc drawled, forcing himself to tear his eyes from the lovely sight of Arastel running his hands all over his leather chestpiece to check for wear and tear, "I think that is an admirable goal. It's… unfortunate that this cost will be setting you back," he said sincerely. "I know that getting a storefront here is not cheap."
"Yes, it's quite ridiculous, isn't it? But I do not mind," he assured the orc as he strapped half a dozen knives to himself. "I've waited this long. It won't kill me to wait a bit longer."
The elf's smile was warm. It made Gurok's heart seize up- but not like it had when he'd first seen the Dark Portal. Not like it had when he'd first laid eyes on Nagrand, or when he had been selected by Thrall himself to join the Kor'kron, or when he'd first kissed Dala. This was an entirely different heart-stopping feeling, like his core just tightened and froze in anticipation of something more.
Arastel was still smiling. "So?" he asked slowly, his eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Uh…"
"I asked if you were ready to go." It sounded like he was stifling a chuckle.
"Y-yes. Ready," the warrior mumbled, already headed for the door.
"Here, you keep most of the gold on you," Arastel said as he passed two heavy bags to the orc. "You look more intimidating."
"Didn't stop you from trying to pickpocket me," Gurok said with a half-smile.
The rogue glanced down, unable to hide his grin. "Well, fortunately for us, most people aren't so bold."
Betila was only too eager to hand over the axes when they presented her with four bulging bags of gold.
"Here are your assignments," she said as she handed each of them a card. The neat lettering informed them of when to leave, where to go, who to speak to, and what to do. "And I'm sure you understand that privacy is important for me and my customers. Whatever you see or hear… well, you didn't see or hear it. Got me?"
They nodded.
"And if either of you skips out on this, I will ruin you."
They nodded again.
"Alright, you crazy guys," she said more jovially, slugging Gurok on the thigh and grinning. "You go return those axes and have a nice night off."
They bade her goodnight and tromped out of her little headquarters.
"Alright. Now how are you going to sneak those back inside?" Arastel asked as they stood on Betila's doorstep.
Gurok stared down at the pair of massive weapons. They were not particularly distinct- it was, after all, for sentimental value that Hellscream kept them close, not their own special attributes. He doubted the streets would fill with people clamoring at them as they would if it were, say, Gorehowl that he was carrying. But anyone who guarded the hold and frequented the armory would know them on sight.
"How did you sneak them out?" he asked roughly.
"I was stealthed," the elf sighed. He ran a gloved hand through his long bangs, pushing them back and out of his eyes. "I could try returning them the same way, if you like."
The warrior cast him a sidelong glance. "Unlikely. You stole them with my help in the first place. There is an elite at my post now, one that would not let you slip past. No," he said, shaking his head. "You would be discovered."
"Then what?" the elf asked quickly, his tone bordering on agitation.
The orc rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, thinking. "Hm. Come with me."
"Bloodtusk. I was not aware that there was to be a delivery today. Nor that you would be deliverer," the Kor'kron at the entrance said gruffly. She peered out from under a hefty metal helmet, her dark amber eyes sharp as she scanned both of their faces. "Who is this? Have you been on leave? Your post has been filled by Terchog."
"I hired him to help me," Gurok explained, swinging his head in Arastel's direction. "And the captain said he needed a new cabinet for the officers' quarters. I had told him of how I make my own furniture and he asked that I take a day off to construct him something."
Jarat Blackbone nodded approvingly. "It is well crafted," she said as she considered the large wooden cabinet. "Though you might have hired someone more capable to aid you in transporting it."
Arastel was sweating bullets as he tried to support his half of the enormous piece of furniture. His slender arms were shaking from the strain, and it looked very much like he would have made a scathing retort if his jaw wasn't clenched shut from the effort of keeping the cabinet up.
"Perhaps we could hurry in before he passes out," Gurok suggested with a hopeful look at Jarat.
She sighed and nodded, stepping to the side so that they could pass. She barked a warning of their arrival down the entry way, telling the other guards to steer clear of the cumbersome cabinet as they navigated through the hold.
By the time they reached the officers' quarters, the elf's hold on the piece of furniture was tentative at best. He let his half of the cabinet hit the wooden planks of the floor with a resounding thud.
"Are you alright?" Gurok whispered, concerned as the elf stumbled toward the wall.
"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly fine," the rogue panted as he leaned heavily against the relatively cool metal and rubbed at the sore muscles of his arms.
The orc opened his mouth to commend Arastel for having carried it as far as he did, but at that moment the door to the officer's room swung open and Captain Nuar loomed in the doorway like a bear lumbering out of its cave.
His eyes were wide. "Bloodtusk!" he whispered harshly. "You have them?"
"They're inside, Captain," Gurok said quickly, patting the side of the cabinet.
The captain eyed them both warily and then stalked forward. He yanked open one of the cabinet doors and peered inside, then shut it quietly, apparently satisfied. He nodded to the elf. "You can leave."
Arastel glanced from the Kor'kron captain to Gurok and then back again. He peeled himself away from the wall, staggering slightly. "I was promised payment. I will stay with him to make sure he doesn't try to weasel his way out of it."
"Bloodtusk has enough honor to see you repaid for your efforts," Nuar said with an almost-sneer. "Leave us, elf. Stonebreaker will see you out," he added, bellowing for the guard to escort him away.
"I will meet you back at my house," Gurok said with a short nod. "I will pay you in full."
Arastel met his gaze, his eyes narrowed. He set his jaw, looking very much as though he was biting his tongue, as Stonebreaker came to take him. He let himself be led out, but he cast one look back at the orc before they turned the corner.
It was nearly dusk by the time Gurok had reached his home. He stopped about fifty paces from the house, intently watching the blonde elf that was pacing back and forth in front of the door like a madman.
After a few moments the rogue stopped and turned slowly in his direction.
"You could have gone in, you know," Gurok muttered as he approached the door, the key already in his hand.
"I figured the last thing you'd want me to do now is add breaking into your home to the list of ways I have wronged you," the elf said under his breath.
He followed Gurok inside without waiting for an invitation. He stayed on the orc's heels as he settled in and began setting down his weapons and putting various things away.
"So what happened?" he asked urgently.
"It is done," the orc said with a shrug. "Hellscream's Bleeding Crescents have been returned and he is none the wiser, I hope."
"You don't think the captain will expose you? I disliked him. I don't trust him," the rogue said quickly.
"None knew of the theft but he and I, and as the one in charge of the Hold at the time, I doubt he wishes to mention anything to the Warchief of security lapses," Gurok said as he sat down to begin unlacing his boots.
Arastel made a small noise acknowledging the reason of the orc's words, though he still looked vexed. "And… your status as one of the Kor'kron?" The elf was positively gnawing on his lip at this point, worry etched into his expression- it was as though his own career was on the line rather than the orc's.
"I was quietly dismissed. I do not suspect the others will even know until I have been missing for a week or so," he said with a half shrug. "I doubt they will be torn up about it."
Arastel swallowed thickly and plunked down on the edge of the chair by the table. He buried his head in his hands and sighed. "I'm sorry, Gurok. I- I never meant- if I had known this would hap-"
"It's alright, Arastel," he murmured quietly. He savored the name as he said it. He rarely used the elf's name- to his face, at least. What he mumbled when he was half-asleep was a different matter. "I… did not anticipate coming out of this with my rank intact." He gave the elf a half-hearted smile, unsure of how to feel at seeing him so distraught.
Arastel peered up. His gaze lingered on him, burning and intense. "You… hm." He swept a hand back through his dark blonde hair, his jaw hard as he considered. "I suppose it is time for me to go, then." It was a statement. No hint of questioning in his tone. "I can- I can leave the city entirely, if that would make you happier," he added quietly.
Gurok's head swiveled toward the elf. "What?"
Arastel glanced up at him and shrugged before pointedly staring away. "I did this. I broke your trust, lost you your savings, got you into a contract with a thoroughly unscrupulous trade princess, and now I've gotten you fired. You said you never wanted to see me near the Hold again- understandably. I think it reasonable that you not want to see me anywhere else, either."
"Arast-"
"It would be hard not to bump into you at all, so perhaps… I mean, I will do what needs to be done. I don't want to put you out any more than I already have. Though I'm not sure if that's possible. The only way I could ruin your life any more was if I killed you, I think."
Gurok sighed and rubbed at his face. It had been a tiring couple of days. "Arastel. I didn't mean that. Or, I did- you definitely shouldn't be lingering around Grommash Hold any longer, especially without me there- but I was… angry when I said that. Harsher, perhaps, than I meant to be. I had been stewing in my own thoughts and disgruntled emotions for a while at that point," he said in way of explanation. "I thought you had been callously using me and was speaking with that in mind. But you didn't."
"No, even worse," the rogue said quickly, shaking his head. "I jeopardized you out of my own folly. Thoughtless," he murmured, closing his eyes tight. "I single-handedly ruined a Kor'kron elite's life," he cried. "Ruined everything."
Gurok snorted. "You overact. My situation is not so bad."
"Not so bad? Not so bad?" the rogue asked in visible agitation. "You've been in the honor guard for how long? I just got you kicked out with absolutely zero recognition for all the years of service you put in-"
"Well, I had negated years of a spotless record by repeatedly allowing a handsome elf to sneak past me," the orc said under his breath.
"Once again- my fault," the elf said at once. He groaned and dug his hands into his hair.
"No, it isn't," Gurok growled, momentarily startling the elf. The orc continued in a more gentle tone, "You would not have gotten inside had I not made the decision to allow it. You are good. But no one is that good," he said with a soft smile. "You cast no spell over me. I did what I did because I let my emotions get the better of me. I do not really regret it," he added simply.
"You don't?" the rogue asked warily.
"No. I was dismissed, yes, and that is not pleasant," he admitted as he peeled off the chainmail he had been wearing. "But luckily I was not dismissed, in the sense of being dropped from one of the zeppelin towers or having my head removed."
"So… it could have been worse?" the elf ventured, the corner of his mouth turning up the barest bit. "You're okay with this because it could have been worse?"
"It is not as though I got nothing out of this ordeal," the warrior said lowly, "despite all that I lost. I will find new work. I will save again. My reputation, little-known as it was to begin with, will recover. And perhaps I will find a new calling while working for Betila."
"You… you don't despise me, then?" Arastel rocked back and forth in his chair, anxious and hopeful.
"Of course I don't," the orc muttered. "This nonsense with you was the one pleasant thing I've had these last two days. I certainly don't wish you to leave the city."
"You don't?"
"No," he said with finality. He appraised the elf carefully. "Unless… this is your way of telling me that you want to leave?"
"No, no, not at all," the elf said quickly. He smiled broadly, looking relieved with the turn of events. "I just… I have done much less to people and had them hate me, after all. No one has ever, ah, treated me like this."
"Like what?" the orc asked curiously.
The rogue shrugged uneasily. "You gave me a second chance."
"You wanted one," Gurok said with a responding shrug. "Few and far between are those who are truly willing to try and make amends, and I would be a fool to spurn someone that is."
The elf nodded and hummed lowly.
"Besides, you can't leave," the orc reminded him with a small smile. "Betila has us both by the balls. You skipping town would doubtlessly end up rebounding on me."
Arastel laughed for a long while. He had to wipe at the corner of his eyes before speaking. "Light, yes," he chuckled. "Everything that I do does seem to come back and bite you in the arse, after all."
"True. I think the only solution is to keep you close, then," the orc said lightly, "and out of trouble. I don't know how well I could handle any more at the moment."
Arastel smiled at him and it was like he'd been struck by a shaman's lightning. His chest was tight and he felt like he needed to gasp for air. Like a punch to the gut, but pleasant.
"I'm afraid I can't argue there," the elf agreed with a cheeky grin. "I'm too much of a handful for myself sometimes," he added with a little laugh.
The warrior let out a low chuckle and shifted awkwardly. Arastel was here. In his house. Being… pleasant.
In the lengthy silence that followed, he looked everywhere in the room except at the elf. And he kicked himself for it.
'Gurok, you are a proud son of the Horde! You've slain demons! Stopped assassins! You backhanded the head off of a zombie during that outbreak before Northrend! This is your chance! Feel no fear! Ask him to stay ask him to stay ask him to stay-'
"I suppose I'll see you tomorrow? M-maybe, if we received assignments that involve working together, I mean," was what he said instead, much to his frustration. Rrrraaaaugh.
"And if not, then there's always Tablah's place," he continued, though he could not fathom why words that were not 'will you stay for a bit' were coming out of his mouth. Hrrrrrnnnng.
The elf was biting his lip. "I'm, ah, banned from there, actually. The troll said that if he sees me again he'll put his one remaining tusk to good use," he explained, looking vaguely horrified at that prospect.
"I can talk him out of that," Gurok said with a sympathetic look. "Just… stop stealing his mugs."
"Certainly," Arastel said with a cordial smile. "I think I have enough now, anyway."
The orc smiled softly.
I just lost my job.
I'm out two-hundred gold and I have no job.
I have to do favors for a shifty little goblin and I lost all my savings and I have no job.
Why am I not more upset?
"So, I peeked at your card when she handed it to you. And at her ledger," Arastel added with a waggle of his eyebrows, looking quite pleased with himself. "We're both starting out escorting a chest of questionable artwork and valuables to a buyer in Razor Hill, then we go our separate ways. So I'll see you at sunup? We can head to the pickup together. I'll grab some breakfast for us along the way over here."
"By 'grab' do you mean 'steal'?"
The rogue smiled and turned away, not even acknowledging the question.
This. This was why he hadn't given into shame and despair and set sail for some desolate outpost where he would never be recognized.
"I'll see you at dawn, then." He could think of no better way to begin his day.
Just the first part of a story for one of the OC pairs that I have way too many headfictions about. :D