A-N: This story is inspired by all my W.O.W characters. All of them in this first chapter, except the paladin, are the real names of my toons. I had to change some races around though because most of them are trolls. Set pre Cataclysm but there are still goblins.
Blizzard owns Warcraft. I own nothing!
~8~8~
(Xig'wa)
The barracks of the Crossroads were eerily silent, its dull red building, usually bristling with the raucous noise of activity or the booming voices of veterans training the young warriors, barely uttered a whisper. Many of the Crossroad soldiers stood out side in the setting sun heat. All were dressed in their finest battle regalia, orcs, Tauren, and trolls, polished and preened in their red and black armor, standing to attention in front of a female troll.
Xig'wa was tall, even for troll standards, her long, fiery, red hair, fashioned in twin braids; lay draped over her simple, yet sturdily crafted Kor'kron armor. Two slender ivory tusks jutted from her mouth, which was turned into a satisfied smile. She, after all, had trained these grunts before her. To anyone who happened across the scene it would have looked as if they were preparing for the arrival of the Warchief himself.
"Are you sure you won't stay, Xig'wa?" Drog, the most decorated warrior, and new leader of the Crossroads barracks, asked, his voice filled with disappointment.
"I am sure, my friend," The warrior replied quietly, shouldering her heavy pack and shield with ease. "I have been to the front as many times as half those lazy grunts behind you, and even longer staying here to train the idiots!" She joked, drawing a few chuckles from the ranks. "Don't worry; I'll still be doing my part in the name of the Horde, just not in the first line of fire."
The burly orc nodded sadly, then, unceremoniously, grabbed the troll in a gargantuan hug that lifted her off the ground. Xig'wa gave an undignified squeak as Drog's iron grip tightened around her ribs, the warriors legs flailed slightly, and she grit her teeth against the squeeze that had killed more than one foe.
"If you keep me in this death grip, I'll die before I even get started." Xig'wa muttered, vainly attempting to free herself.
Realizing his grip would likely crush the plat bound troll, Drog stepped back, coughing awkwardly before offering Xig'wa a sharp salute, "May your axe never rust, and your swing never grow weary!"
Raucous cheers met the old warriors blessing as the troll warrior saddled on her raptor, Sharpclaw. From behind she could hear them chanting an old war song that rose high above the scorching desert air and couldn't help but smile once more. As the road opened ahead of her, the warriors mind whirled at the multitude or choices now open. Now free from her soldiering duties to the Horde, the options seemed endless. Where would she go, what would she find there? Ahead, in the hazy heat lines rising from the barren dirt, Xig'wa could already make out the faintest peaks of the Thousand Needles, looking akin to small mound hills from this lengthy distance. Patting her raptor, she grinned, the wind picking up behind her flinging loose strands of sanguine hair in every direction.
"First stop, Tanaris." Xig'wa whispered to the equally as excited raptor, spurring the large greenish beast forward, as they headed off in a slow trot to the towering peaks ahead.
~8~8~
(Shandra)
The crowds at the Gurubashi arena in Stranglethorn Vale cheered wildly at what was most likely the best spectacle any there had ever witnessed. Intense humidity did nothing to keep from people working themselves into a near heat stroke frenzy as they pounded the ancient troll ruins with their fist, either in excitement, to urge the contestants on, or in fury of loosing their bets.
A human and a Blood elf fought with unparallel savagery in the deep sandy pit that was the Gurubashi arena. The human wore all black, covering his entire slender form; his only armaments were two bloody fist weapons that looped around his hands, with long, sharp spikes protruding from their deadly clutches. The fist weapons dripped green venom that landed on the sand with a faint hiss, and caused a little line of foul smelling smoke to drift upwards. It was very potent stuff indeed.
Shandra, being an arena fighter of no few years herself, knew the rogue was good. Breathing heavily the paladin attempted to regain her battered composure against the human rogue. Half her plate armor lay in shambles around the ring by the human's expert dismantlement, and a cut on her arm foretold a long night of pain from his poisons even if she survived. A cleanse spell had managed to make the venom non life threatening, but it still flowed through her veins like liquid fire. Her broadsword stayed loose and agile in her hands, a Libram hanging on a bloodied chain by her side.
The human flashed a lewd gesture, as he saw the fatigue dancing in her eyes, movements flagged by exhaustion. She was finished. Rolling his shoulders, a gesture of complete confidence, the rogue began to sprint in. However, he diverted his course from a straight charge, and at the last second, reached into a secret pocket, and threw a smoke bomb blocking her view.
The crowd cheered, or cursed, even louder at the under handed move, all thinking the paladin dead meat as the human stalked in to the fog for the dirty kill. The sick sound of a steel moving through a body and an indescribable cry echoed over the ring, silencing those who had been making noise. Barely a sound was made, as the crowd watched with baited breath waiting for the smoke to clear.
Blue eyes up to the sky, dim and vacant, the human lay still, blood oozing out his severed head, which the elf girl, raised in victory. Birds flew from trees, disgruntled at the loud cheering that permeated the arena nearly shaking the whole place.
"Winner," A troll yelled, holding up the paladin's free hand in celebration. "Shandra!"
For only a moment, the paladin basked in the gory glory of the cheers; the screaming spectators, the thrill of watching an opponent fall to the earth, their blood running freely to be seeped into the yellow gray sand; this was what it was all about.
Later, at the small law less goblin town of Booty bay, Shandra packed, in a small stay room above the Salty Sailors Tavern. There wasn't much packing to be done, at any rate, some supplies to repair her abused armor, a couple of tunics and breeches, plus a small money sack near bursting with gold. It wasn't much but just enough for a gladiator who never stayed around to long.
A loud knock echoed from the near rotted door that looked like it had probably been on a ship before being so haphazardly hinged at the filthy tavern. Shandra sighed, slightly shaking her head, knowing exactly who it was. Opening the door angrily, she looked down to find the shifty, large smiling, goblin staring up at her.
"That was a great match, Shandra." The goblin praised slyly, talking faster than Shandra imagined any, save gnomes, would speak.
"Thanks, Jarl," She sighed in annoyance.
The goblin leaned against the door, toying with a gold coin carelessly between his large greedy fingers. "You know, we could use a gladiator like you here in the vale. You'd bring in the big coins," Jarl chuckled, rubbing his fingers together in greedy glee.
"Once, again, no thanks. I don't like staying in one arena for to long."
She shivered at a memory from long ago, staying long meant that at one point or another, no matter how much you tried to avoid it, your competition got personal, and she would never, ever make that mistake again.
"Ah well," Jarl sighed sadly, more that he would be loosing a fortune, rather than a great fighter. "Where will you be going next?"
"I hear their paying well, for some decent brawlers down near the shimmering flats."
Shandra rolled her eyes, as the goblins, loud laughter filled the room. "Tanaris, that water forsaken, bug infested, Fel hole! Those brawlers come from the dirtiest parts of Azeroth, best sort of fighting to. Light help you down there."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence." She growled in exasperation.
Pushing the goblin out the door, she slammed it in his face, hopefully injuring him. Ignoring the music and bawdy drinking songs from down stairs, she sank on the hard cot, giving no thought to the fleas and lice, and waited for dawn to bring the boat.
~8~8~
(Efera)
Centaur milled about on patrol of their land in the Desolace. The forever gray sky swirled almost ominously above their territory. Its bleak days could get monotonous for the blood thirsty creatures who, all cowards stayed in the large groups of their tribes waiting to over come their enemies by sheer numbers in battle.
A scout gave a sharp whistle as a lone orc figure walked down a steep trail that was dangerously close to their territory. Efera had seen the Centaur long before they had seen her, though she still walked as if all was in order and she was simply a stupid fool having no clue where she was going. She smiled under her cloaks hood, as three of them stood in the middle of the road at a distance. A trio stinking Centaur clutched there preferred misused weapons, pawing their cloven feet, eager for the kill. She looked up sharply as if just noticing them, and cried out in alarm, setting off back down the road in a dead run of feigned terror.
The Centaur roared in devilish, bloody fun, the scent of blood in their nose and the prospect of fresh met in their mouths. They chased the orcess for some time down the path until it seemed the she had fallen, making the victory even sweeter to the Centaurs, knowing she wouldn't even put up a fight. The middle centaur bandit, spurred on an extra burst of speed, its hooves churning up grainy dust back in his compatriots faces thinking he would have the first of the good meat. A hiss and a cry of pain greeted the ambitious bandit as angry snakes bit at its ankles, and wrapped around his legs tripping the beast. The other two saw their partner fall, and jeered at their foolish friend, leaping over his quickly dying body.
A bear suddenly charged from the path side, it seemed nearly leaping through mid air, claws and teeth bared, to maul the bandit on the left. That only left one very startled Centaur gazing around at the changing events. Two of his tribesmen lay dead from either a string of terrible luck or a trap. Hearing the drawback of a bow, he looked up in alarm to find the orc standing up with an arrow flying into his direction. He gave a chocking cough, holding his neck, where the arrow had lodged it self. Another protruded from his chest, arm, leg, until he looked akin to a pincushion. With a gurgle, the hapless creature tumbled over, leaving the hunter, victor of the scuffle.
Walking up towards the dumbly staring corpse, Efera spat in disgust. "I hate Centaur." She muttered, running a hand through her jet black hair. At 5'9 tall and muscular, but with a definite feminine quality, the orcess cute quite a figure.
The corpses were already drawing more flies than usual, but the stink was just a wretched, as she searched the body of the arrow filled horse creature. By the way the clothes were oddly bright, and more or less in good shape told the hunter it was due to a recently fresh kill from some unlucky bastard. Paper fell out of one of the pockets, covered in sludge. What ever the beast man had been using it for couldn't have been pretty. What she could gather from the parchment was the poor sap who had gotten killed was heading to a place known as Tanaris.
"Tanaris, eh," She murmured curiously. Looking towards Bor, her bear. There was a faint smile on her face. "Looks like that's where we're headed."
The loud hoof pounds of more centaur and cries of rage echoed in her ears, drawing more credence to her new plan and she quickly disappeared into the bleak land.
~8~8~
(Pendel)
In a small home, near Ratchet, a single candle burned by a window, its tiny flame flickered cheerfully, telling that for all the looks of abandonment, the house still contained one resident. Pendel didn't even want that single tiny flame proclaiming her presence, but she needed some way to see in the dark house on the moonless night. The fine home lay upturned in panicked packing, by the goblin who was doing all she could to cover her trail. Her bright turquoise eyes danced with fear as she swiped thick bangs of jasper green hair from her face, grumbling to herself as she destroyed the home, picking up things here and there that she needed on the run.
"O, Pendel, it's just a little assassination attempt on a wealthy trader in Stormwind. Yea, that lazy employer failed to mention that 'little wealthy trader' was a noble!" She mumbled to herself.
Pendel had failed, and she knew she had an hour at best till some one came to claim her head as a bounty reward. But where could the rogue go? Booty Bay was out of the question, Winterspring as well. While she could find sanctuary with her people, she knew all to well they'd sell her out for the right amount of coin. She had to pick a place her people would hide her and maybe the bounty hunters tracking her would never think to look or wouldn't try to follow.
The rogue now carried the candle with her making sure she left nothing truly important behind, anything that could potentially give her away would be an instant death sentence. A large map of Kalimdor decorated her former living room, she shined the candle on it, her mind working over the possibility of her current problem of where to go. Slowly her sharp gaze drifted lower and lower down south.
"Hmm, Tanaris, small, hot, not a lot of water, constant danger, out in the middle of nowhere…Perfect!"
Pendel laughed slyly, letting the candle begin to burn the edges of the map. Hungrily, the flame licked the outskirts of the once expensively crafted map devouring all in its ever gluttonous heat. The house was fully ablaze when the goblin slunk out into the night.
~8~8~
(Juska)
In Mulgore, another person was departing from home, but not for the same reasons. The Tauren hefted her pack easily across her shoulders looking one last time in the direction of home. Her brown spotted fur hung shaggily on the young Tauren girl, slightly tousled by the wind as she sighed, half fearful half wistfully on what she was about to do.
The spirits called to Juska, and she knew staying at home would never really be the way of performing the ancestors will, no matter how much her father might hate her for leaving. With a quiet prayer, Juska spoke to the earth and it answered by a small rumbling under her hooves. She had always had a connection with the land, not like the druids, something more personal. The wind taught her swiftness, caressing her as a child, earth spoke wisdom, water had taught her patient, but fire, regrettably had taught her quite the opposite. Juska could no longer wait for her training to be over, the world called to her, speaking through her visions and dreams; and she would answer that night.
The earth under her rumbled again as the wind pressed against her back as if pushing her smoothly along. With a smile, the shaman walked off south having no clue were she was going but having faith the spirits would lead her safely.
~8~8~
(Magtera)
Snow fell in heavy blankets upon the Alteric Mountains, thick clouds spread like iron stones upon the sky. The ground was invisible through deep mounds of snow and ice that piled along the ruins of a once strong and thriving human city. Alterac keep had once been a neat little town set in the frigid mountains. They had mostly kept to themselves until plague had struck, either killing the citizens or driving them northward to Stormwind. The town was now residence to a clan of ogres, who ruled their territory with an iron fist against intruders.
In the former garrison of Alterac keep the brutes lay nice and warm huddled together in the ruins. The ogres lay gambling or sleeping, around the huge banked fire that flickered their shadows into odd creations along the stone walls. All was quiet, and just as it should be, before the main door slammed open bringing in drafts of cold air and flakes of snow. A heavily wrapped up Forsaken and a gray donkey strolled through the door. The robes of the undead whipped around as the hot and cold air colliding vying for dominance.
"Good evening, my ogre friends!" Magtera, spoke in their grunting guttural language with ease. "I hope you don't mind me bringing Phyllis in, it's to cold to leave the old girl outside." She patted the donkey beside her for good measure.
The ogres looked on in shocked silence as the bold, or crazy undead, lead her donkey and herself to a bare corner of the room.
"Winter can be a nasty time of year for people up here, but never fear, I bring the healing of the Light!"
It took all of five seconds for the ogres to come to their senses, and grabbing nearby weapons. The biggest of the brutes, probably the leader, hefting a large club, laden with sharp stones, stood over the seemingly oblivious forsaken.
"Ah, my first patient." Magtera smiled pleasantly. She looked up placing a bony hand on the brute's large chest. "Hmm, you have a few bruised ribs. Slipping a little too much on the ice?" Magtera chuckled to herself quietly while offering the Light a healing prayer as the ribs mended.
"There we go, big guy," She nodded in assurance into his shocked face.
She had healed the sharp jagged pain that ran across his torso with every laborious breath. For the fist time in months it no longer hurt the brute to move about. The other ogres looked at their leader with wonder as they witnessed his breathing more eased than they had ever seen it. If she had healed him, what could she do for them?
Days later the blizzard had cleared, Phyllis and Magtera were about to leave, while the host of the ogres coming out to bid them good-bye.
"Thank you, dead lady," The leader said quite politely for an ogre.
"No thanks are needed, my friend. All I ask is for you to tell me where there're any others I could be a service to?"
"We no some," The ogre nodded, pointing off into the gray distance. "Our fellow clan brothers in Tanaris."
"Tanaris?" The priest echoed confused. "Where's that?"
"Far across the sea in a place with as much sand as there is snow here."
"Then that's where I will go." She said nodding determinedly.
The ogres waved good-bye as there newly found ally walked off back to Hillsbrad to make arrangements to Kalimdor.
~8~8~
So, should I continue this story?