The huge cavern that sat in the middle of the vast underbelly of Stonetalon was more than big enough for the two camps of humans and orcs to be slightly separate. But as the days dragged on, Jaina wasn't sure if it was big enough for two highly hateful races in such close proximity. Glances like knives radiated at all hours of the day towards one another, red against blue, human against orc. A hand always rapping against the hilt of a weapon, one eye left open when sleep washed over them. The tension seemed to rumble faintly like the beginning of a storm at sea; ominous gray clouds of waryness rolling in and the jagged licks of lightening conjured of mistrust and hatred about to bear down on the two armies.
Kaz and Bron, two grunts, warmed their trembling numbed hands by the huge orcish bonfire. The embers flared up like tiny soft glowing stars before drifting away to darkness as Kaz threw another log onto the already blazing flames swirling the orange flecks up again in a small flurry. They muttered of the day's searches bitterly through chattering teeth, tired of being in a damp cold cave that yielded nothing but dead ends and beasts ready to leap out and kill from the blackness with teeth and claw.
Armor clanked across from them as two marines entered the massive chamber from the other end of the vast network of caverns. The pair of humans headed quickly to their own bonfire, in determined chilled strides. Their own brightly glowing blaze seemed to be in competition with the orcish counterpart flickering parallel to their own. Quickly fiddling with the leather straps to rid themselves of their steel blue armor, they shed their ice cold plate with alacrity, to careless and cold to worry where it landed.
The marines huddled close to the fire muttering about much the same as the orcs had. Darkness that was thick and stifling, red eyes peering at them with hungry malice, and a constant feeling of being watched that pricked the back of the neck, and made you clench your weapon with all your might to keep your hands from shaking in sheer terror.
"Look at those pitiful little pink skins, Bron," Kaz spat, his brown eyes narrowed disdainfully. Despite the Warchief's decree they work with the weakling pig's animosity and hatred could not be ordered to be forgotten. Like the bonfires, the flames of hatred never subsided to glowing embers but pierced the soul with is wrathful luminance devouring all in its wild blaze.
Sparing a glance at the miserable and frigid humans practically hunched over the crackling flames, Bron laughed. "Pink? No, look at them they've turned blue with the cold, weaklings! I'm surprised they all haven't shriveled up into pale skinned husks!"
The two grunts roared in amusement their laughter like the squealing of new born piglets causing the two marines to look their way. Staring at the two grunts with age old hate, one grimaced and made an obscene gesture with his hand towards the pair of giggling orcs. You didn't have to speak common to know what it meant; an insult carried over any language barrier faster than anything else.
Snarling savagely, all humor suddenly melted away from the orcs, like snow in Tanaris. Their eyes narrowed hatefully, muscles jerking in their hulking frames as the tell tale signs a fight was about to ensue. Baring their yellowing tusks, and brandishing their blood stained axes the two grunts raced to face the marines, who were on their way to them as well. The rapid clanking of plate boots on the stone floor, seemed to ring ominously, drawing looks from both camps at there noise.
Kaz pointed a calloused finger to one of the humans, his growling tone accusing and challenging. One of the humans spat at his feet, his eyes flashing angrily in a wordless acceptant to the orcs challenge. Angry words that neither could understand were dallied back and forth as the four ran to meet each other in frustrated combat.
Spittle flecked Bron's thick ugly lips as he screamed black orcish curses at the humans. He twirled his massive axe expertly mentally preparing the place to sink the gleaming steel in the humans soft flesh when the marine drew the first blow, tackling the orc with a fierce vigor that knocked the air out of Bron in one giant whoosh. The pair went down in a blur of green and pale flesh, mingled with the vibrant red streaks of blood as they pounded away at one another with numbed hands that shook with cold and fury.
~8~8~
Jaina sat alone in the human command tent, marking more tunnels off that lead to no where but death. Conjured mage light floated above her in soft radiance that added a calming glow to the blue dyed tent that was rife with writing implements. She couldn't afford true candles with all the dry paper heaped in the tent. Just one spark and the whole place would be ablaze with flame that would engorge itself upon the precious maps that held the routes of the honeycombed caverns.
Rolls of blank scrolls and hurriedly scrawled maps sat in precarious pyramid style stacks on the brown oaken table before her, looking ready to tumble away at any moment. Ink stains pooled around the edges of the maps, silver ink pots, and Jaina's black stained fingertips as she wrote. Her hand scratched in black X's, on the primitive quickly crafted maps with her white griffon feather quill, a little harder than she had to in stifled frustration. The Oracle was no where to be found! Every cavern was searched through intently twice over, regular sentries sent to them every day, an eye in all corners, no stone left unturned by the vigilant, desperate, forces that hunted for this so called Oracle like Gilnean blood hounds after a fox!
Picking up a half empty inkpot she threw it at the indigo tent canvas in anger. She watched in exasperation as the black liquid smeared across the tent fabric in sharp onyx streaks that bled through the blue canvas. It was hopeless! A weary sigh passed the sorceress' lips as she put the quill down in another nearly drained ink pot, her delicate shoulders were slumped almost in defeat as she put her forehead on her forearms that lay on the table. Her head was pounding in dulled agony like waves beating upon a jagged shoreline when she heard the shouting echoing from outside.
Perking her head up, the sorceress became instantly alert, all disparaging thoughts vanishing away like phantoms of the mind. Throwing back the tent flaps, Jaina raced out, her cobalt eyes wide and alert scanning everything at once. She immediately saw the fight ensuing by the orcish bonfire; two orcs and humans pummeling one another with bleeding knuckles, their weapons lying on the cold ground forgotten as they beat upon each other savagely. Blood poured from broken noses and mouths filled with now broken teeth, eyes blackened and puffed out ridiculously in red and splotchy black hues.
Many were gathering to watch on both sides, like a storm about to break. They were forces with grudges and armed with their preferred weapons glinting in the fire light, their eyes trying to read the fight to see who had the upper hand and who needed aid.
Grimacing, Jaina clutched her staff as her azure eyes scanned the spectacle; she knew from experience, watching would soon turn into friends, then allies, then everyone joining the needless brawl to vent their frustrations. Blood would be carelessly shed, random people maimed, and perhaps lives needlessly lost to the blind burning hatred that fired through their veins.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Thrall making his way to the fight as well, his hammer lying loosely but a the ready in his hands, a disapproving scowl upon his face. How would he react to the fight? Would he join; would he blame her men and ask for their heads? A million fears stabbed at Jaina in the instant as she was once again reminded just how hard Thrall could force her hand since their first agreement had been forged in her desperate attempt to spare her men's lives.
Shaking the thought away the sorceress muttered a well known spell she used on drunken foot soldiers when they became too rowdy. In an instant the four brawling warriors began to shrink and transform, the four looked to one another warily before a flash of gray cloud appeared around them. The orcs gasped in shock while many of the humans chuckled and rolled their eyes in annoyance as four wooly sheep dumbly wandered the stone floor. Their weapons and armor surrounded them in little blood soaked piles as they strayed back and forth in confusion.
Her sapphire eyes flickered back to where Thrall had been standing, trying to read his face on what she had done, only to see him tuck back into his command tent once more, his guard standing like solid stone stoic statues in front of the tent flaps.
Turning to Darren sternly, half disappointed he did nothing to halt the fight, she pointed to the two sheep wandering around the blue and white Alliance tabards that were stained with gore. "Hold those miscreants until I return, and find some orc, perhaps Dan'ruk to deal with the other two."
"And where are you going?" Darren asked, cocking an eyebrow at the Arch-mage, though his lips were turned into a sneer at the mention of Dan'ruk.
She didn't reply but slowly made her way to the orcish encampment, her robes swirling around her ankles as she marched determinedly to see the Warchief. The guards at Thrall command tent stepped aside in one crisp simultaneous movement from the tent flaps allowing her passage to their king with out question. She faltered slightly behind the backs of the hulking guards but not yet inside the tent; he had been expecting her, Jaina knew now. What would he say?
Taking a deep breath she braced herself and entered the tent with a calm grace. Standing in front of the make shift desk, looking him strait in the eye she managed a small smile. "Warchief." She greeted pleasantly.
Getting up he pulled a crate-stool out for the sorceress beckoning her to sit. "Please have a seat, Lady Proudmoore."
He smiled inwardly, pleased that she had came, even though he knew it was probably his men's fault. It meant that she was true to her word, no matter how trivial the circumstance. A fight had ensued, and here she was, just as she had promised. It was an endearing trait he admired in the strong female. The strong…pretty…female. Thrall rebuked himself instantly as the word popped into his head. Orcs were not supposed to find humans attractive, even if he had lived his entire life around them. To be sure, most of the time he did not find them much to look at, their eyes were too small and ratty, and they seemed to be like bendy twigs compared to a sturdy orc female. But Jaina…Jaina was different. Pushing the thought away in a sudden panic as to where it was leading, he focused on the task at hand to drown away the troubling thought.
Adopting a somber grimace the sorceress gazed at him evenly. "We will have to do something about keeping are men under control, Warchief."
He was surprised but kept his face pleasantly neutral, she didn't even bring up the fight. Did she, after a few weeks, know him so well? Did she know that he too knew the fights steamed from frustration and hard forged hatred that even their commands couldn't keep from surfacing?
"That will require us shifting through years of death and hatred." He replied sullenly sinking into his chair with a growling sigh. His calloused hand ran over his face before pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off a coming headache.
Jaina sighed tiredly placing a hand under her chin as she slumped forward, "Unless you know a way to wipe people memories, we do have quite a task before us."
They laughed quietly at the small joke that slowly transformed into awkward silence that resounded across the tent louder than their combined laughter. Should they be this comfortable with one another? Was this ease they felt together natural for human and orc? It suddenly dawned on them both that they were not showing themselves as hardened, leaders who could not be brought down by any discrepancy, but letting their actions and the very sighs that emanated from their lips testify that they to were at their wits end. In a word, they were being the anathema of politics- open, and truthful.
"Perhaps if we display to them there is no animosity between us that might soften the fights a bit," The mage suggested after a moment. She couldn't help but smile a second time as Thrall's face furrowed into a slight puzzled state, that made her want to giggle. But no, she couldn't possibly…
Folding his hands together the Far-seer nodded sagely. "What did you have in mind, Lady Proudmoore?"
"Well, we could start by showing support for each other; openly agreeing with one another decisions, asking one another lieutenants questions, and so on." With a wave of her hand, she grinned lightheartedly making Thralls heart skip though he did not know why. Perhaps because he had never seen her show anything but poise and tactics. "And enough standing on formality, in private you may call me Jaina."
"And me Thrall," He smiled as well; he was growing to respect the tactical sorceress more and more. "Integrating our defensive buildings so that patrols have to meet, might work as well…"
~8~8~
The talks lasted well into what the two leaders could only perceive as night. Candles had burned down to their nubs, the wax drying in pools on the table and floor, and the change of guard in both camps all told the tale night had fallen on the world above.
By the time Jaina returned to her camp the watch fires were burning brightly, and guards yawning trying to stay awake at their posts, though coming to rapt attention when she passed them to go to her private tent.
A plate of food sat cold to the touch on a small old dented shield serving as a tray as Jaina entered her tent. Half charred meat floating in thick brown gravy congealed like blood, and bread even harder than normal tossed to the side. The sorceress smiled fondly as she looked at the plate, thinking of her friend on the world above with the rest of her men. Sarah had been known to drag her away from the command tent by her ear making her take a few bites of food and calm her over heated brain. More than once Jaina had gone a day without stopping to eat or barely drink.
Picking up the hunk of hardened bread, the Arch-mage nibbled on in sparingly like a rat with a crumb, while throwing off her more bulky cloth armor of shoulder wear and shoes. She had long ago learned emergencies could conjure up at any moment, it was best not to be caught in your undergarments when they did. She sunk to her cot wearily, yet also exuberant at the progress she was making with the orcish Warcheif. Who knew an orc could be so ingenious!
It was the first night in more than six months she hadn't thought about him…Arthas, his memory haunting her weary mind at what he had done at…No she refused to fall into that entangled web, not tonight, not when things were just beginning to go right, a glimmer of hope in the dismal darkness.
Instead, her mind wandered to the two miscreant she had ordered Darren to hold. The polymorph would have ebbed away now but she was far to tired to rise and deal with them for their brawl. A cold night shivering in a holding cell might do them good anyway. It might teach them to stay by their own bonfires next time. Sighing the exhausted sorceress marked one more problem to deal with on the morrow in her weary mind.
As sleep began to cast its shadow upon her, she decided today hadn't been so bad. True, a fight had erupted but a glimpse into the creature known as Thrall had been worth it. For a few hours he had been open, sharing his opinion, listening to hers, commenting and tweaking clearly displaying his expertise. Yes, it had been worth a few miscreants breaking their teeth and blackening their eyes. As her sapphire orbs flickered and her breathing slowed she finally fell into what might have been called a peaceful sleep.
How restless she would have been if she knew how much worse morning would come…
