Fordring's Blessing
Sokaron had lost count of the hours spent in the saddle and he never tired from it. Unlike the living, he and Jonathan were not bound by dated bodily needs. They did not stop for much of anything and they were content to remain that way. Or at least Sokaron hoped to once again when he had found a way to quell the flashbacks and nightmarish dreams. Whilst the Forsaken did not sleep, they were prone occasionally to what they had come to call dream-states, flashbacks to memories of their former lives and all else that they used to be. Since the Alliance would never accept them, it was the closest they would ever get to remembering their old living ways. These dream-states were never constant and often happened during when they weren't not preoccupied by other matters.
Sokaron had lapsed into such a state where his warhorse was following the horses, wolf and raptor around it, picking its way over loose cobbles without so much as a complaint. He saw himself as human and he could see that wherever he was stood amongst other men was colder than he had ever experienced before. He could hear chattering teeth and the tell tell sound of the others rubbing their hands and blowing into dry calloused palms. He could see their breath as the coldness turned it into a fine vapour or mist that bloomed outwards in the space around their heads. He felt as if he was there, back in the cold brutality of what was clearly Northrend for no other landmass could compare to these temperatures. He watched himself turn before his gloved hands moved to redo his ponytail so that it was tight, an errant lock falling on his forehead as it always did. That had been something he had carried with him into undeath though his fine mass of black hair was now somewhat far more lanker and greasy. He recognised the face standing next to him as the younger man spoke.
"Hey, watch it man. You'll give someone an impromptu shave with those things!"
"Darren,"
"Who?"
Sokaron blanked and turned his head to see the others all looking at him as if he had grown a new head and frowned, not understanding why they were all looking at him with odd and confused expressions. Least, that's what he thought they were showing since he was no longer familiar as he once would have been.
"What?" he said finally, still not getting the fact that he had spoken a name aloud.
"Who's Darren?" Jonathan asked, scratching his jaw and Sokaron caught Rok'thar's wince of disgust. Orc opinions of the Undead weren't something they bothered to hide. "You said 'Darren' like that's meant to mean somethin',"
"I... " Sokaron frowned, "He's someone I knew. Back in Northrend and the return... the return to Tirisfal," he said slowly, not understanding even to himself why it bothered him or what it meant. First, the memories of his family were bothering him, he didn't want friends to cloud the issue. He just hoped that his internal problems weren't going to get in the way of his mission but something told him then that even if it did, and it seemed all the more likely, Faranor wouldn't let him bale himself out of it.
"But... oh!" it dawned on Jonathan, "You had a wee dream-state," the undead man giggled gaining the oddest look from Rok'thar though she seemed more bemused than anything. Sokaron nodded silently as their mounts plodded along down the cobbled roads towards Corin's Crossing.
"What was his full name?" Faranor asked, bring his charger next to the warrior's warhorse.
"Darren Johnson. He was far younger than me. Too young to have gone to war," Sokaron did not even know why he found this so easy to remember at the sudden flashbacks of a man he had not known or remembered moments before it had happened.
"We'll shall ask of him when we reach Light's Hope. They may know something of him there," Faranor replied with a hand to the warrior's back in gentle reassurance. Sokaron glanced at him and tried to smile through lank muscle but it was not easy. He was so used to not bothering to show his emotions that remembering what a smile looked like was painful, and thus why he did not do it often.
They reached the outskirts of Corin's Crossing only to find it swamped by wandering abominations, wailing banshees and members of the cult practicing their dark spells. A couple of guards seemed to join them from nowhere and they all looked at the humans. It seemed like they had seen Horde before and were used to the threat they posed, yet one spoke up in decent orcish, which certainly got the shaman's attention. Orcish speaking humans were uncommon and they all wondered at who had taught him.
"I would not follow that road if I were you, friends," the guard began though he eyed Rozoru's raptor with a wary gaze. The emerald creature hissed and snapped gaining words of reproach from the troll. "You'll attract more attention that it's worth. We have a back road by way of the tower you are free to use,"
The party looked between themselves as if wondering whether to trust the words of a human regardless of the fact he spoke the common tongue of the Horde. Rozoru finally seemed to find her voice and brought her unruly raptor round, "We will take your road, mon. We tank you for the hospitality,"
Sokaron had begrudgingly agreed, whilst he would have loved nothing more to decimate the undead wandering close-by, it would have wasted valuable time and effort. Time was a precious commodity for their mission, Thrall had not been deceptive on that part. The guards nodded and lead the way back to their post before he turned again, the guards making a way open through their defences.
"Follow the road ma'am, and do not stray, I pray you,"
Rozoru gave the men her mark of blessing, a faint paw print appearing above their heads that would boost their agility, strength and overall morale. With that, the troupe carried on the road marked out for them eventually reaching the tower of Light's Shield as they came to learn. A man clad in heavy armour, clearly marred and dented from use stood in their way and held his hand in the air to halt them.
"What business do you have in the Plaguelands?" he asked, his head tilting as he regarded them one by one whilst an Orc joined him clad in similar silver armour that marked him a part of the Crusade.
It was clear to him it was his turn to spoke and Sokaron cleared his clammy throat, "We have been charged by Warchief Thrall to bear audience with Highlord Tirion Fordring. It is of the utmost importance to both the Horde and to your Alliance that our meeting takes place."
"I thought Orcs were distrustful of the undead to entrust their missions to them," the man replied and the warrior did not fail to notice the expression fleet over the orc's face. The man was testing him and Sokaron's warhorse snorted, pawing the ground as if to feel its master's tension.
"Warchief Thrall is not like most of his brethren," Faranor spoke allowed gaining an amused look from Rok'thar. It was not often an elf spoke favourably of others with such reverence but then Faranor was not like most Sin'Dorei, "He is a child of both worlds, one who understands the bigger picture. If he has seen something in Sokaron, then who are you to disagree with him? The Forsaken have lost their former lives through the fault of the False King, not their own. Whilst being Horde, he has ties to the Alliance. Sokaron will carry out his mission even if it means his head. You would do the same if you were him,"
As Faranor had hoped, he saw the reaction to the term he had used for Arthas. Anyone who had lived in Lordaeron at the time of Menethil's betrayal would have used it themselves only too well and it had the effect he had desired.
The Orc finally grunted, "And I suppose the Banshee Queen feels obligated,"
"I follow her orders and I follow Thrall's. For the moment, their goals are the same common purpose. Everything else is irrelevant. We are wasting time, time Azeroth may not have. Would you risk destruction just because you would rather have my head, Sir?" Sokaron snapped, his eyes glowing with intensity.
He could the man's guard rise, his stance stiffened but Sokaron did not want, did not wish to fight him. Not today. No, if his mission were to succeed it would require as little Alliance blood as possible. They had worked together before to defeat Arthas... a union most tenuous at the best of times but yet, they could not end this trade off if a worse enemy was to appear and take everything they took for granted and led it to ruin.
"The Highlord will have received word of our coming, Mister?"
"Frederick Calston,"
"Calston. As a Paladin of his Order, I do not wish to keep him waiting. I, Faranor Thorongil of the Silver Hand, will vouch for my company not because they are Horde or my friends, but because they share a mission that even the King of Stormwind will be forced to hear. I would rather commend you for your co-operation Mr. Calston, not demerit you to Fordring. That will bring you shame, I fear," the Sin'Dorei spoke.
The orc failed to hide his laugh before he turned away, eyeing Rok'thar for a moment as he did so but did not add anything to the conversation seeming to be placated by Sokaron's and Faranor's words. Frederick on the other hand seemed to be in two minds on letting them pass but he eventually stood to the side of the pass.
"Thank you," Thorongil replied as Sokaon adjusted his facial straps again before nudging his skeletal warhorse forwards again followed by the rest of them. They head down the path and Faranor sighed heavily, scratching his chin. Sokaron laughed suddenly and patted his shoulder.
"I'm glad I'm not the only one who find Humans trying,"
"Their stubbornness and prejudice is... more than trying. They are so blind a race but they are not all like that. It is hard however to forget that most are sheep,"
Sokaron smiled before a gruff voice halted them once again drawing another frown of disdain from most in the party. They turned in the saddle and Rok'thar grunted as the male orc from before joined them on his own riding wolf.
"May I join you till the next tower? The forces of Arthas may have declined but there are still threats to warrant traveling in groups," he said
"To which tower are you headed?" Rok'thar asked of him with a clouded smirk.
"Northpass. I'll have to fly from the next tower but I hate flying," the orc grumbled.
"You are welcome, mon," Rozoru replied and Jonathan grinned as they began moving off again, traveling the road in two. The two wolves were certainly less noisy together than wolf and raptor had been but in turn, it was making the horses skittish.
It was a few more hours on the cobblestones before they thought about a short rest stop and sat around a fire that Jonathan put together in a very short space of time. He laid traps around them that would react to give them warning if anything unfriendly drew too close to them. Most of it would just be blighthounds and bats but you did occasionally run across the over zealous Alliance or Horde member wanting to shred you to pieces.
"Bit of a funny place for an Orc to be, isn't it?" Jonathan asked, plopping himself next to his wolf, Kara who gave an affectionate albeit garbled whine.
"It suits my purposes. Contrary to popular belief, I don't mind the Alliance all that much. We all for the same glories," he replied with a gruff smile. "If anything, you lot are perhaps one of the more interesting groups I've seen. Calston isn't one to back down. You must have good standing back in Light's Hope,"
"I am known to Fordring," Thorongil replied whilst stretching and taking a long sip from his flask. Sokaron knew from his position next to him that it wasn't water the man was drinking, but their oft favourite of Eversong Wine, the scent sweet and fragrant which matched the opulence most Sin'Dorei favoured.
"Heh, I bet you are. I suppose you've bumped into the Paladin wannabe's,"
"Gidwin and Tarenar?" Rozoru asked with a smile and the orc nodded, "Yes mon, we have. Delightful if argumentative pair with a penchant for getting into trouble,"
Faranor snorted, "They'll have to clean up their act if thy wish to become Paladins,"
"I think they will be great Paladins one day, Faranor."
The blood elf only sipped from his flask again as they enjoyed the warmth from the fire crackling in the centre of them all. They spent a further half an hour talking amongst themselves before they got on the road again, Rok'thar put out the fire with a burst of water summoned from a local source. She could feel the earth's will to regenerate and to be nursed back to health. She was sure that the Cenarion Circle were doing all they could to bring life back to the place. It definitely looked healthier than the last time she had been here.
At some point, Gaz Ukbaz, as he had introduced himself, left them to continue northwards to Eastwall Tower so that he could fly a shorter journey than it would have been from Light's Shield. Rok'thar had figured it was simply because the orc did not trust hippogryphs all that much over a fear of flying. None the less, it had made her smirk with bemusement.
Hours later, they reached the gates of Light's Hope and unlike Light's Shield, they were not barred from entry when the guards saw the unmistakeable Thelassian Charger and the tabard the elf wore. It clearly meant that Thorongil had business here. He slowed down and brought his black destrier to a halt by one of the guards.
"Is Highlord Fordring here? Did he receive our message?" he asked the sentry and the man nodded before pointing to the chapel ahead of them before he waved another man over and offered to take their mounts. The party dismounted and gave the reins, sharing them between the two men before Faranor lead the way up to the chapel. A sentry announced his presence and those inside turned.
It had been a rather busy day for the Highlord and he had still much left to do before he left for his old home of Hearthglen. A place that had held much meaning for him... it was where his wife and son had lived and he had been unable to see them since he had been labelled a traitor then. Though, he had snuck in to see his boy's initiation to becoming a oath sworn Paladin. He wondered how Eitrigg was now between the many years he had met him and saved the orc's life from certain unjustified death. It had taken a long time for the order to rescind the orders that had kept him from being who and what he was for so long. A paladin out of the fold from the light's embrace was a painful existence, and yet the light had not completely abandoned him... as if it knew that his actions were true and just.
A grimacing screech and a flutter of folding feathers brought him out of his reverie and lifted his gauntleted arm just up in time for an owl to land and present its leg to him alone. Tirion lifted a brow knowing owls were usually something used by the night elves, but he did not have a clue as to why they would wish to contact him. He retrieved the scroll of parchment from its carry case and the owl gave another hoot before taking off again, flying through the open door and soaring into the air.
"News, my Lord?" Tirion glanced to Maxwell, the man he entrusted to lead Light's Hope Chapel once the older Paladin left for Hearthglen. His eyes returned to read the letter's contents and he noted the script was elegant. It was unmistakeable as scripture written by the hand of an elf, an elf whose handwriting Tirion recognised only too well and did not need the name written below to know the identity of who had sent the letter to him.
"Thorongil returns, and he won't be alone. It seems I will have to remain here a little longer. He comes bearing an important message from Lady Sylvanas Windrunner and Warchief Thrall,"
"The Dark Lady sends a message?" Barthalomew spoke up, his voice raspy as most Forsaken voices were these days, his eyes were lit up in curiosity and Tirion nodded slightly.
"Seems that way. We shall see," he replied before coiling the scroll once more and tucked it away into a bag attached to his belt. "How goes the rebuilding work on Northpass?"
"It goes well. Little to no hostiles have tried to make a dent in the work though undead continue to walk in places. Corin's Crossing, Quel'lithien and Plaguewood are proving most difficult to eradicate Arthas' leftover forces," Lord Maxwell Tyrosus replied, showing the points on a map laid out on an old oak table that had seen better years.
"Faranor Thorongil will be pained to hear of it. Quel'lithien Lodge means a lot to his people. Lor'themar Theron will not have forgotten much less everyone else," he said ruefully putting a finger on the place on the map. Maxwell nodded and smiled slightly as they consulted some more before Barthalomew spoke up again hours later.
"Well, he comes a face I have yet to see," Tirion wondered at what the Forsaken meant as he turned to see a number enter the Chapel with Faranor in the lead. It was a curious mix; two Forsaken, one Orc, one Troll and a Bloof Elf. Tirion smiled as his eyes rested on the elven Paladin.
"Welcome back to Light's Hope Chapel, Thorongil. Your presence has been missed," he greeted, moving to meet them.
"Thank you, my Lord," the elf bowed before he stood aside, "These are my companions for the mission Warchief Thrall has set Sokaron, favoured warrior of Sylvanas"
Barthalomew's words now made sense to Tirion, the man had been going on about a warrior by the same name for quite some time and often got letters from friends back in the Undercity.
"You must be Sokaron," Tirion spoke and the warrior too bowed his head though said nothing in return, "I have heard much about you, thanks to Leonid here. He hardly shuts up about you,"
"Flattered, I'm sure," Sokaron rasped, "I do not wish to tarry with introductions, Highlord."
"No, quite... you come with an important mission and I wonder what part I am to play in this," he smiled slightly as Rozoru, Rok'thar and Jonathan took up positions in the chapel.
"Warchief Thrall thought that a letter by you to vet our entry into Stormwind was imperative to the success of the mission. The Alliance of Stormwind would shoot us down before we had the chance to speak with him and his city's shamans. I'm sure you have felt that something in the earth's core is stirring. Rok'thar has been filling us in constantly," Faranor replied and Tirion thought the man's words over carefully. There was no lie in that. Whilst Thorongil might be spared through his affiliation with the Argent Crusade and Silver Hand, the rest were still loyal solely to the Horde, and for the two Forsaken, it would be a painful reminder of past events for the humans residing within the last major stronghold of the human race.
It was clear the Forsaken would not return the Ruins of Lordaeron and on a private note Tirion knew that it was probably for the best though Tirion knew better than to voice such a notion. Memories on both sides were still too fresh.
"It will take more than a letter by my hand to grant you access into Stormwind. King Wrynn has made no compunctions about what his guards are to do with any Horde found on his land. You going alone... that would be lambs to the slaughter. Tell me more, Rok'thar, Shaman of Azeroth,"
The orc stepped forwards and bowed her head slightly, "Azeroth is still in pain. The elements... they are in constant flux. They do not always answer to my summons even before recent events but now... I am even more hard pressed to persuade them that I am loyal to them. I sense they are troubled and Shamans are not the only ones to feel it. The Druids too sense what we do... something is brewing. Warchief Thrall desires to know if the shamans of the Alliance have also experienced what we have. The need for the Horde and Alliance to work with each other again may prove to be more important than it was to defeat the Lich King,"
"And we do not know the reason behind it?" Tirion asked, his mind reminded of Fordragon... something that no one else knew about, not even Varian.
"No, Highlord, but whatever it is... it must be grand enough to worry the elements,"
Tirion nodded, finger stroking his bearded chin in thought as he heard the shaman's grave words and he noted the edge of worry behind her voice. Orcs did not let on their fears so readily and for her to have done so meant that whatever pained the elements was of great concern to them all, not just shamans.
"I will write a letter asking Varian to hear you and I will send a few of my order to accompany you. As it happens, we have a few Gryphons to spare to carry you all to Booty Bay, where all of you would be welcomed without fear of being shot down by trigger happy sentries. The Gryphons will only have to return there anyway so you may as well make use of them."
"What of our mounts?" Sokaron asked and Barthalomew laughed before being silenced by a look from Tirion.
"Our resident mage will see to them, no need to concern yourself with that," Tirion replied as he moved to the table once again and pulled a piece of parchment towards him before grabbing a quill. He scratched on the page concentration lining his aged brow as he wrote in his usual elegant scribble. Message written, he placed the quill back in the ink pot before rolling it up as Maxwell provided the sealing wax. Tirion pressed his seal into the warm red liquid before it cooled and solidified. He turned and gave it to Sokaron.
"Present this to the guards that I assume will arrest you. Offer no resistance, my word is my bond that this will grant you an audience with the King and Lady Jaina. I daresay you will also encounter King Greymane who now joins Varian's court. Lord Maxwell, could you go get Sarathir and bring him hence. I believe he will be the perfect candidate for getting them in,"
Maxwell nodded and left the room as Tirion smiled, "I hope your mission is successful master Sokaron,"
"I hope so too," he replied and he meant it but more out of the fact that Sylvanas did not appreciate failure in those she entrusted. If there was anything he did not want to lose, it was her favour. She had chosen him specifically to go see Thrall and do what the grand Shaman wanted of him. She had not relied on other other man or woman of the Forsaken based on their reputation.
A.N= I figured that Gaz would be open to travelling between towers as the other guy is. Leave me some love.
