Chapter 3!
Thanks, everyone who reviewed so far. I'm very glad you all like this. It's the first time I've ever tried a Warcraft story, and I've only been into the game for eight months, so I'm still relatively new to the fandom. Thanks again for the positive response, guys, and here's the next chapter for you!
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Over the Sea to Skye
Nar'grin had been mistaken about the zeppelin only having one level. The door to the lower hold was situated in the rear of the ship, and so he had missed it. Now that he knew it was there, the elderly shaman made his way down to find a quiet corner for himself. The journey would take the rest of the day, through the night, and into tomorrow; Nar'grin was glad there would be a place to sleep - the hardness of the wood would wreak havoc on his old back, but it was worth it. Ahnka was worth it.
Gripping the rail, he made his way carefully down the steep, narrow steps - Just like the ones in the tower; much more of this, and my knees will never be the same... - into the hold. He was not alone. The upper deck had been filled with people, mostly orcs, trolls and tauren, and the lower deck was just as bad. There really was only one corner not crowded beyond his comfort zone, and so Nar'grin shuffled over. He settled stiffly not far from a young troll female, with purple hair tied in multiple braids.
The troll was absently patting a raptor on the head. That, and the bow on her back marked the female a hunter. Nar'grin took little notice of her, but she acknowledged his presence with a smile, and warm words.
"Hello, mon," she beamed. Then her expression became concerned as she realized Nar'grin's age. "Ya goin' to a dangerous place, elder."
Nar'grin glanced at her, then down at his hands. Around one wrist was the bone bracelet Ahnka had made for him when she was younger. It had been a gift, over Winterveil one year. She had carved a wolf's head charm - for their clan, the Frostwolf - and several round beads, from bone, and strung them together on a cord of macrame. Nar'grin had treasured it ever since.
"I must go," he replied. "And nevermind the dangers."
"Ya be a brave soul, elder," the troll said admiringly, extending a three-fingered hand. "My name be Aannu. Who you be?"
"Nar'grin," Nar'grin replied, shaking the offered hand. "It may be that I am old to be on my way to Northrend, but you are awfully young..." He did not say it, but in his mind he thought, As is my poor Ahnka...
The troll bristled slightly.
"I be every bit ready," she grumbled. "My trainer say so. Just because I be a hunter, and I young, dat don' mean I not ready to go an' fight for my people."
Nar'grin nodded.
"I have no doubt of it, young Aannu. But you are little more than a girl." He thumped a shriveled fist against the wood of the air ship. "Why they send the children to fight, I will never know..." the orc sighed, hanging his head.
Aannu growled, but said nothing. Nar'grin was left alone for a time, and after a while, his bones began to protest sitting for so long. Using his staff to pull himself upright, he walked over to the little observation deck, and looked up. The deck stuck out from the side of the air ship, and out here, over the ocean, he could see the stars more clearly than ever.
Ahead, almost straight ahead, and low on the horizon, hung one very bright star. The Northern Star. It was to this star that Nar'grin looked, his mind on his mission, and the girl he loved.
Ahnka had always been a fighter. She'd have made a fine warrior, if not for her penchant for sneaking up on people. How many times, as a small child, had she pounced on him from some hidden corner in their hut? She had been so small in those days. Now, she stood head-and-shoulders over him.
Her parents had been captured by slavers when Ahnka was still a tiny infant. Thank the ancestors Nar'grin had been watching her at the time, or the little one likely would have shared their fate. He was not sure how they had come there, but when Thrall had stormed Durnholde Keep, Nar'grin had found evidence of their presence. With little Ahnka strapped to his chest, he had searched the entire keep, and finally found someone who knew of his son and his mate.
It was a human, a little boy who had known them as his family's personal slaves. The boy had trembled and wailed in the arms of an equally frightened woman. Nar'grin had given his word not to harm them, that his intent was peaceful, and eventually, they calmed.
The mother would not speak, her eyes filled with venom, but the boy had described Nar'grin's son exactly. Then the boy said the words that broke Nar'grin's heart; both had died when influenza had hit the keep.
So Ahnka had become his responsibility, and he had taken it on gladly. He already adored the baby, and his only regret was that her parents were not here to see what she'd become.
She was his pride and joy. Ahnka always blushed when he told her so, but it was true. She had not been old enough to do much when the threat of Illidan and Kaelthas had loomed over the world, but she had done her part bravely. And when the Lich King's forces had attacked Orgrimmar, without a second thought, she had thrown herself into the battle, until Nar'grin had fallen. And after, rather than hide in the infirmary with the wounded, she had rushed back out to defend the place, along with a handful of others who were either not seriously wounded, or happened to be in the area. To this day, Nar'grin thanked the Spirits that the fighting had been the thinnest there.
She had earned honor for herself, her family, her clan, and all the Horde at nearly every turn from the moment she'd come of age. She was his heart and his strength, and he could not afford to lose her.
In the silence of the night, Nar'grin centered himself, and reached down into the Spirit of Life within him, and sent his consciousness out, searching for Ahnka's spirit. He found her, still in Northrend - in Icecrown Citadel itself - and still trapped. She was still frightened, but now she was angry, too. Angry, and outraged. Nar'grin had to smile. Only she would have the courage to get mad at her undead captors.
The effort had exhausted him, however, and he stumbled back, hitting the side of the zeppelin, and sinking down until he sat on the platform. He was wheezing and dizzy, but comforted, knowing that Ahnka was still alive.
"Be safe, my child," he sighed, thin, trembling fingers ghosting over the carved bone bracelet with its wolf's head charm. "I will find you."
Nar'grin slept poorly that night. As he suspected, the hard surface of the wood, even tempered by his sleeping roll, had destroyed him. The coldness of the air out over the ocean made his joints ache, and even the warmth of his sleeping furs had not helped. By morning, he was stiff and cold, and moving caused his back to crackle painfully. Shivering, he pulled his cloak around his shoulders, glad for the warmth of the fur lining.
The troll, Aannu, had spent the night on a bench not far from Nar'grin's spot, and she smiled at him in greeting.
"Mornin' mon," she offered. "Ya sleep well?"
Nar'grin grumbled quietly, not having the energy to glare at her.
"I got somet'in dat might help ya," Aannu said softly, digging haphazardly through a bag. Nar'grin watched as a few smaller items missed the bench she tried to place them on and rolled across the floor. He picked them up and set them beside her. Soon, she came up with a small bottle of a thick, greenish fluid, and held it out for him.
"It soothes de muscles, elder," she explained, smiling broadly around her tusks as Nar'grin took the potion. "Careful of da taste, mon. It'd knock a Barrens buzzard off a kodo carcass."
Nar'grin took an experimental sniff, and cringed. Steeling himself, he threw back the contents in one quick gulp. It was a nasty, vicious concoction, with the most vile taste, but almost instantly, he began to feel the change. His lower back loosened considerably, and the aching stiffness receded from his joints a little.
"Thank you, Aannu," Nar'grin sighed leaning back against the wall. He pulled the edges of his cloak over his legs, and held it closed against the frigid northern ocean air.
"You welcome, mon," Aannu replied. "I be goin' ta meet my mudda up here. She be fightin' in Icecrown. Can I ask why you up here, elder Nar'grin?"
Nar'grin looked down at the wolf bracelet again, and rested his fingertips on the center charm, drawing in a breath.
Ancestors, give me the strength I will need for this mission...
"My granddaughter was at the Wrathgate," he said quietly. "She was taken captive by the Lich King."
Aannu's eyes widened, then grew sad and sympathetic.
"Ya sure she was taken, mon?" she whispered. "I heard 'bout dat battle. Dey say no one survived..."
Nar'grin shook his head.
"I can feel her, young one," he insisted softly. "Twice, I have searched, and twice I have found, my granddaughter. Ahnka lives, and I must rescue her."
"Den mebbe I go wit' you?" Aannu suggested tentatively. "It be sorta on my way, de Citadel. Dat be were de Lich King have her, ya?"
Nar'grin nodded.
"I believe so."
Aannu grinned.
"Good. Nort'rend ain't no place for anybody to be wanderin' alone, ya know? If ya don' mind, I come wit' ya til we get you granddaughter, den I go find mumma?"
Nar'grin paused for a moment to think. While he wanted to hurry straight to Ahnka, the young troll was right. If he went all alone, there was the very strong possibility that he would not make it. He was old, and ill. Likely, he would never even get near the Citadel on his own.
"Alright, Aannu," he agreed. "We shall travel together."
A huge grin split the young hunter's face.
"Perfect, mon," she chirped. "I make you de best raptor egg omelet you ever see!"
Nar'grin chuckled at Aannu's enthusiasm. She was so young - younger than Ahnka, now that he looked more closely at her. It was the natural fierceness of trolls that made them look older than their years. The same effect was had on orcs, though Nar'grin certainly was not younger than he appeared. At ninety-four summers, his had been a long life. Aannu could not have been more than eighteen or nineteen summers. Three younger than Ahnka.
But for all her seemingly childish eagerness, Aannu had about her a certain level of discipline and strength. And her raptor looked particularly large and powerful. Surely she would be a good companion to have in such a dangerous land.
Nar'grin had never known a docking to take so long. The mighty iron and stone of Warsong Hold had surely come into view hours ago. The waiting for the call to disembark was driving him mad. Ahnka needed him, and he had to wait for supply crates. The passengers on the zeppelin had to wait until the ship was properly attached to the landing platform, and the supply crates unloaded.
Never had Nar'grin so hated waiting, and he had always been a patient orc; patience was a necessary part of being a shaman. But when it came to his granddaughter's safety, he could not get moving quickly enough.
"Dey takin' so long," Aannu groaned. She was seated on a bench, leaning against the side of the air ship. Nar'grin stopped pacing just long enough to take notice of the similar track their thoughts were following. Absently, he fingered the bracelet Ahnka had made him, its grainy surface providing him a little comfort.
Another part of his impatience to get moving was the cold. It mattered far less, certainly, than Ahnka's safety, but he was absolutely freezing, and Aannu had only had the one little bottle of muscle relaxant. Every joint in his aged body ached, deeply painful. His knees were cracking and his fingers stiff. Even the thick hide cloak, with its soft, warm lining of bear fur, was not quite enough. How his dear Ahnka had managed to survive this, he did not know.
At last, the order to disembark the passengers came around, and Nar'grin and Aannu went up the stairs, and onto the upper deck. There was a plank that created a bridge over the narrow gap between the side of the zeppelin and the landing platform. It was too narrow, even for his wasted bag of bones to fit through, but Nar'grin still did not relish the idea of a fall. It wouldn't kill him, but it very well could break something. He was too old for that, and in far too much of a hurry. Breaking a leg, or his hip, now, would only slow him down.
The zeppelin tower here was much the same as the one in Orgrimmar, but the stairs were wider - wide enough for the young huntress, Aannu, to walk beside Nar'grin, and offer her support should he need it. But the old orc made it to the ground with his companion, and they stepped out into Warsong Hold.
It was a very different place from Orgrimmar - very stark, and frightening. It harkened back too much to the days when the Burning Legion had control of the orcs, when Gul Dan was the warchief. Nar'grin had known the orc called Garrosh's father, Grom, and he knew Grom's son. Both had their hearts in the right place, but Grom had met disaster and an early end. How long before the younger Hellscream met the same fate?
The Hold itself was set in a quarry. Nar'grin made to head out of the quarry, up the path to his left, but a strong hand restrained him.
"Careful, old one," a voice warned. "There are Nerubians everywhere. You've had a long journey; come inside where there is safety."
The orc who had restrained him and spoken was tall, and thickly muscled with reddish-brown skin. It was Garrosh Hellscream, the one who had so pushed for the Horde to go to war in the first place.
An animalistic snarling began behind them, and Garrosh turned, swinging his axes as he did so. The movement neatly severed the over-sized insect instantly. Nar'grin looked at Aannu; her mouth was open in horror, and if he wasn't so tired after the journey here, he'd have used his staff to close it. As it was, the staff was all that kept him standing.
"Inside, quickly," the younger Hellscream growled. "Before another attacks."
Nar'grin and Aannu followed the young orc down into Warsong Hold. Everywhere, off-duty guards and merchants milled about. There was an entire section of the Hold dedicated to engineers, and another for blacksmiths. Hellscream left them with the innkeeper, a Forsaken man named Williamson, and excused himself to get back to his duties.
"If you wish it," the orc offered, "I would be glad to arrange you a tour of the place."
Nar'grin shook his head.
"I thank you for the offer," he sighed. "But I should much rather rest." Hellscream nodded his understanding, and left them.
Williamson was a frightful-looking thing; his hair was done up in spikes over his jaundice-colored head, and his eyes were sunk deep beneath an 'x' of iron meant to keep his face together. Aannu looked nervously at Nar'grin, and the old shaman gripped her hand in reassurance. The innkeeper led them back to the sleeping quarters, which was really just a large, open space with a bunch of hammocks strung up. Nar'grin felt his back begin to ache just looking at them.
"We don't get many travelers here," Williamson hissed, his voice a breath whisper. The sound seemed to unnerve Aannu. "Mostly warriors; young-bloods sent from Orgrimmar - soldiers used to a hard life and ready to fight."
It was clearly not meant as an apology, and Nar'grin frowned after the Forsaken as he wandered away. Too brusque. And, a dark voice in the back of his head muttered grimly, too Forsaken. He knew they could not all be held accountable for the coup in the Undercity, just as not all orcs were responsible for the horrors the Burning Legion had forced so many of them to commit, but how was Nar'grin to know whose side the unsettling Williamson was really on?
Now that he was stationary, the stresses of the last couple of days made itself known. The long journey, last night's rough sleep and draining act of tapping into the Spirit of life, along with his continuous worry for Ahnka, was taking its toll. It had been many years since he'd had this much excercise, and the exertion was wearing on him. His exhaustion manifested in shaking limbs and a deep, almost painful, pressure in his chest.
Suddenly dizzy, he sat heavily on the floor, setting his staff aside and digging through his bag with trembling hands. He came up with a large bottle of the hedgethorn oil. While this container usually stayed in the kitchen back at the hut, the smaller vial Nar'grin always carried was not enough for this journey; he'd known it would not be even before he left Orgrimmar. Uncorking it, he threw down a large gulp, then leaned forward, letting his head hang.
"Nar'grin?"
Nar'grin slowly raised heavy eyes to regard Aannu. She was crouched before him, reaching for him in concern. He offered a weak smile of reassurance.
"I'm alright, young one," he sighed. "I am old, and the venture here has worn me out, that is all."
Aannu gazed at him dubiously.
"Ya sure 'bout dat, mon?" the younger troll persisted. "Ya don' look well; gone pale. Last I checked, ya gotta be alive to rescue somebody."
Nar'grin nodded tiredly, one corner of his lips twitching slightly in a wry grin.
Chapter three! It took me a while to get to this point. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll be able to keep updating so quickly. If I could get mine back from our computer friend, then I'd be sure I could. As it stands, these have just been a productive few days. I have so much other stuff I should be updating...
*whole cast of angry character spanning from Les Mis to Last Airbender and beyond glare from the other side of the room*
Heh...
Review, please!
