Footsteps pounded rhythmically upon the verdant earth inside the orcish commanded tent as Dan'ruk paced nervously from one corner of the rounded, many hided make shift dwelling to the other.
Pale, yellow tallow candles dripped from their perches upon the wide table in the epicenter of the wide tent. The large oaken table was spread out with tattered papers, scrolls, crude maps of the darkened realm they made camp, and a slew of scout reports that littered the only piece of furniture besides the two old barrels serving as seats.
The pungent smoke swirling up into the air from the foul candles and the stench of sweat dripping off the worried orc wafted about the tent acridly. Its stench mirrored what Dan'ruk felt bubbling inside his gut that all was not right.
"Where are you, Warchief?" The shaman in training mumbled worriedly under his breath.
Two weeks had passed since they had ventured out into the shaded woodlands to search for the supposed elves dwelling under the shaded canopy. Their most expert of scouts, from both forces, had been sent out to no avail in tracking down the mysterious elves. After such attemps had all fallen short, that had left the only recourse for the two leaders to attempt to locate the supposed beings said to reside in the shaded glades that gave the land an almost purple tint to the flora and abundant fauna.
While both had checked in regularly with the runes they had bestowed upon himself and Darren to assure contact and safty, as of two days ago his rune had ceased its warm bluish glow of the human, Proudmoore's, power and now rested as nothing but a cold stone in his sweaty, work hardened palm.
Cold terror broke over him the day he had discovered the rune a useless lump of rock and no traces of magic, without word from his Warchief.
That day he had said nothing to the human Darren who gave not a hint that his magical stone was barren and lifeless in any way. Not even a hint of worry furrowed over his ugly pink face telling tale if anything was amiss. On the contrary he was often seen by his shadowed silhouette in the Lady Proudmoore's tenement chatting back to the stone as he had been doing for Thrall.
Dan'ruk stroked his beardless chin in sagely contemplation at the thought. His dark, piggish eyes stared intently at the guttering candles flames flickering wildly before his vision. Slowly foul candle wax oozed down its sides as if crying in mourning for the lost Warchief.
It was as though the elements of flames, known for the rash and impetuousness were speaking to him with every dip and sway of the errant fire; entrancing him with it coaxing jig.
What if the Lady Proudmoore, some how managed to ambush Thrall before she could do anything to his rune stone? Of course the frail looking, if not cunning human only recourse would be to ambush the far seer whilst he slept of performed a ritual to consult the spirits. She would have used her treacherous, cold magic's to stop his heart from its brave pounding and shattered it in ice, or perhaps use the hungry flame to devour his flesh and leave him a smoldering mass upon the accursed lands carpet of lush greenery.
Even seeing her might and what powers she could wield from her hands, Dan'ruk was too proud to remotely consider a human, especially a female, stronger than the wise, savage Warchief. He allowed the elements to flow through him, raw, primal power from Azeroth's core itself. Only treachery itself would be used to be take down the mighty Thrall, son of Durotan.
So what could she have done to make his rune grow cold?
"Filthy, heathen, orc dogs!" The well known voice of Darren abruptly roared furiously; his snarling voice piercing the air like the first fire arrow of a battle sailing through the air.
Dan'ruk's bald head shot up at the insulting proclamation echoing about the towering trees surrounding them. Breaking off his concentration upon the mesmerizing cavorting plunges and bickering of the flame, a feral growl rumbled from his thick lips.
Beckoning the spirits to his aid, the way Thrall had taught is apprentice; the proud orc puffed his chest out angrily as he flung open the tent flaps to address the pink skin issue no doubt nearing the encampment of the orcs.
What little light broke through the dense foliage of the forest shown down upon the expertly polished and prepared armor of a host of human narrowing in their direction. The clank of plate boots marching in strict military precision clanked murderously towards the equally as riled orcs who pawed at their dutifully cared for weaponry of axes and spears.
Darren was in the lead of the angered pack. His dark brown eyes blazed like the heat of the little candle aimed towards the burly orc. His hands curled over the hilts of his twin blades, that hadn't been drawn yet, but the sinewy muscles tensing under the dark leather of his uniform suggested that they could be whipped out before a heart could finish a single beat.
A snarl wrenched past the human's twisted bearded lips as he stopped mere inches away from Dan'ruk. Spittle flecked the fringes of his mouth, like a rabid animal, and the very air about him emanated threat and the precursor of bloodshed heralded with the fire in his orbs.
"What has your foul brute of a leader done with the Lady Proudmoore?" He screamed in outrage. Before Dan'ruk could offer a sneering, reply the human unlaced the ties to an old, blue leather coin purse about his hip. The novice second in command waved the cold bit of stone with the rune engraved upon it like some declaration of guilt. "For two days this blasted hunk of rock has been cold and silent! Why is she not communicating; where is Jaina!"
Dan'ruk roared back as fiercely as the human, prodded to the heights of his races ancient rage by the accusation and infantile assumption that Thrall had done something unworthy of a great war lord. How dare he allude to Thrall doing something underhanded and dastardly! Humans were much more suited to those traits, than a noble orc!
Murder flashed in his dark eyes as he seemed to tower over the just as enraged human. "What has he done? What has your underhanded, trickster of a Warchief done pink skin? Thrall would never stoop to dishonor to be rid of your weak human chief! But I am not so certain that your human would do the same." He seethed. Tearing his own rune from the folds of his wolf pelt robe, he brought it inches from Darren's face. "Tell me why my rune has been depleted of your human's magic!"
"Ha, trying to make us think you're the victims, as always. You think I will believe such treacherous words? A stupid ruse, from blood thirsty, stupid orcs!" The wiry human spat causing flecks of warm saliva to spatter on Dan'ruk's face.
At that, pushed far over the precipice of self control, and what paltry scrap of peace he had somehow managed to contain, from the human's blatant words, the apprentice shaman's fist, still curled about the rune, collided like a hammer upon rock with Darren's face. Bone crunched beneath his fist like the sweetest of music to the enraged orcs ears. To hear the sound of human crying in agony as their bones cracked to splinters was the grandest of symphonies to any true blooded orc.
The human went flying back into the plated bodies of his fellow soldiers and spattering of dwarves who had come armed to the teeth and ready for answers sullied in blood. Darren clenched his teeth at the pain sonorously resounding through his skull akin to the bells of Lorderans kingdom on a feast day. Blood gushed from his twisted, broken nose, and a scar from an edge of the rough stone gashed over his right eye, just missing the orb entirely. Inches away and it would have assuredly caused him to go blind.
Rising unsteadily to his feet, the sinewy human spat out a wad of black blood, spit, and probably particles of broken teeth. Drawing out his blades, he brandished them skillfully; every swing singing the tune of battle. "We will search for our Lady Proudmoore after we gut you barbarians and burn your wretched carcasses!"
"Funny." Dan'ruk huffed a mirthless chuckle. Lightening crackled in his balled fist ominously with streams of shamanistic power jumping about his calloused grip. "I was about to say the same."
Coalescing the energy of the blast to his palm, the orc let out a savage roar as he sent the bolt flying aimed at Darren's bloodied and bruised face. A smirk of bloody satisfaction carved upon the orcs features, only to be dashed a second later.
Bringing both his blades, points forward, the human caught the bolt by the steel tips of his blades. Amazingly, the lightening did nothing to the blades, but merely stayed there as one orb of crackling power as though it was still under the orcs command.
It was Darren's turn to smirk at the blank, unexpected amazement upon Dan'ruk's grizzled, ugly face. "An enchantment to harness and reflect such primal, lowly magic's. Courtesy of Lady Proudmoore before she departed." He revealed with a harsh lurid laugh before raising the two blades high above his head.
The lightening crackled of the very tips of the twin weapons like an orb on some strange pinnacle. "Now I believe, this is yours."
Roaring in exertion, the wiry human flung the lightening bolt back with all the rage his sinewy form could possess. A large grin plastered upon his scruffy face, confident the orc had not been expecting such a maneuver.
And he was not, Dan'ruk knew imperatively as he numbly watched the cracking fiercely hissing ball of power soaring back to him. His mind became a blank sheet. Spells to beseech the elements fell from his mind and crowded his tongue so that nothing came out. This was going to hurt.
The streak of lightening barreled straight for his chest. For all his pride and courage, the shaman clenched his eyes shut and prepared to meet his ancestors in the great halls of war and feasting.
Heat brushed violently against his face, eager to bite and singe his marsh green skin. Abruptly, the magic sizzled and died only a hairsbreadth away.
Relief shuddered through the orc who blinked now in as much surprise at the confused Darren.
"There will be no bloodshed this day warriors of the Horde." Thrall's rumbling, commanding voice stated with all the weight of a Warchief could dictate.
Beside him, the arch mage's outstretched hand glowed a pale blue that banished the lightening bolt that had been about to break upon the astounded orc. "Neither will the soldiers of Lorderan raise up their blades."
"No blood shall be spilt upon our sacred lands, least Elune should turn her pale light away and cast you all into darkness." Another female, one strange with taut, lilac hued skin and dark green hair prophesied direly.
A tenuous peace rankled through the ranks of orcs and humans relieved and pleased to see their leaders, and the tall, lithe female who no doubt had to be one of the elves it was rumored the oracle had spoken thus.
"Lady Proudmoore!"
"Warchief!"
Dan'ruk and Darren roared simultaneously at their sudden appearance. Flashing quick respectful salutes, the two substitute generals strode towards their respective leaders hurriedly.
Both leaders cast their second in commands look of anger and disappointment that foretold a long talk after introductions and explanations were made. By the nether, they had nearly walked into a bloody massacre of humans and orcs, not the true threat of the Legion.
"Our runes were not on our persons when he discovered the elves." Thrall explained disapprovingly to the pair. He tactfully deigned not to mention the part that the runes had actually been confiscated when they were prisoners; thinking a wedge could be caused between the orcs and the elves in another grudge that was not needed. His eyes bored in raging fury to Dan'ruk. "I had hope this is a sufficient intelligent explanation?"
Unable to meet the Warchief's gaze, Dan'ruk tilted his head down and scuffed the verdant earth with his leather boot. "Of course, Warchief, Thrall."
Jaina merely shook her head at Darren who had adverted his eyes, and rubbed the back of his sweaty neck, before she pushed his ineptitude away for later. "But, as you can see, our mission was a success." She proffered a hand, to the elegant and stately night elf who gazed upon the warriors of the Horde and the Alliance with due incredulity.
Who knew what thoughts could be roving the ancient crevices of her mind?
"The high priestess and her mate have agreed to aid us in our fight against the Legion." Thrall spoke to the gathering in slow common so that a few well versed grunts could translate for their fellows. "In the coming days we shall hold talks and meeting of war on how best to halt the shadow encroaching upon Azeroth."
At that, a few cheers and claps where heard from the forest, but felt half hearted and demoralized. The men were tired and hurt and weary of the shaded groves and coppices of towering oaks that shielded the sky and kept the sun at bay. Their hearts were leaden and heavy with all that they had endured. Having located and befriended the elves did not seem like much of a victory or progress to any one.
"If you are through, Warchief Thrall I would like to depart back to my husband and report all that I have seen and witnessed." Tyrande stated serenely with cool demeanor that betrayed nothing working in her mind. There was no hiding the fact she and her people who judged and brooded upon all she would relate would know all she had seen; that was inevitable which was partially the reason for fury against the generals.
The first thing she would relate to her husband and generals was how she had seen a near massive slaughter by those who were supposed to be working together! What sort of force where these strange humans and orcs, who shed blood against their own allies?
The Far Seer and arch mage made curt bows to the priestess. "As you wish, Lady Whisperwind. We look forward to talks soon." Jaina replied as some form of good bye.
With that, the priestess and her escort of lithe and dangerous warrior women slipped back into the dark denseness of the woods. They seemed to fade and then be gone like smoke taken by the wind, only at least with smoke there was a faint trace. For the elves nothing was left, but the whispers of the wind.
~8~8~
It was late in the night before Jaina got a clear opportunity to slip out of her command quarters and teleport herself into the orcish war tent. The entire room was dim and smelled with the heady scent of weapon oil and tallow as her eyes adjusted to the blackness.
"I'm glad Sarrah sent you the alls clear to come." Thrall's deep voice admitted as he summoned flames to a few dead candles about the war room.
Light flared to life letting the sparse things in the room be partially adumbrate against the illumination of the candles soft glows playing about the tent hides enchanted sides.
Jaina's loyal servant had come in handy as a liaison on more than one occasion when their meeting demanded utter secrecy to talk about the issues that plagued their camps away from the eager ears of foot men and grunts, starving for news to gossip around the bonfires.
Flinging a sheaf of reports two weeks old upon the battle map stuck to the table with four daggers upon the frayed edges, the Warchief sighed tiredly. Rubbing the small space between his squinted sky blue eyes with his thick fingers, he slipped down upon one of the make-do barrel seats. "After sorting the mess that fool Dan'ruk has made with running the encampment for two weeks, and yelling at him for nearly causing a massacre, I find myself rather fatigued of the day's drudgeries."
Jaina snorted a mirthless reply as she took the other barrel turned chair. "My voice is nearly hoarse for screaming at Darren. His obtuse passions nearly got our men in a brutal battle. I'm having him clean the latrines for a week. If he can't act like a general, I'll put him back down to a recruit status."
A smile briefly crept to Thrall's grizzled face. "Dan'ruk will be doing all the things a novice shaman will have to complete for a very long time for his actions." Suddenly his smile faded as though recalling something vastly unpleasant. "However, he did mention one thing I thought rather disturbing."
The arch mage leaned forward slightly, her face crinkled with intrigue. "Another Legion attack?"
"No." Thrall assured her solemnly. "But something just as dangerous." What little amusement that had etched upon his face died away as suspicion and untrustworthiness clouded his furrowed brow. "Just before he arrived, that lightening bolt we saw, contrary to my belief, was not being hurled by Dan'ruk, but reflected back to him."
Jaina tensed at the accusation, but did nothing to deny it. Holding her head high she nodded tersely as her fingers curled over the wood of the table. "After a bit of study of the primal magic's of shaman's I forged enchantments for Darren's blade to deflect minor spells."
Thrall laced his thick green fingers together thoughtfully as he leaned back. "How do you think I would look at this? You crafted a defense to deflect spells from my people. Sabotage if you will. Need I remind you that just because we are not under the mountains, does not make you free. You are still a captive of the Horde, and I do believe I reminded you of what the cost of treachery would bring you. Furthermore." At this Thrall looked a trifle hurt. "I thought we had grown a trust. We have fought and shed blood side by side. To my people that is a signal for friendship and even to human that usually forges a camaraderie of sorts."
"I did not give him the enchantments because I am untrustworthy of you, Thrall." The powerful arch mage replied serenely. A sardonic frown edged upon her lips. "It's for him and the men's assurance. You know and I know the enchantment will not hinder your power in the slightest, nor do nothing but modest damage back to Dan'ruk, the most senior of the shaman. If they think they have some sort of upper hand it makes them more pliable."
Thrall stared at the sorceress with eyes of the coldest blue intently for a moment. Even silent, Jaina could tell he was taking every word, every inflection of her even voice and judging it for truth.
Breath halted in her lungs under the hard stare aimed to her, but she stoically held her composure like any Proudmoore would. She would remain strong in his line of fire.
Slowly, when the arch-mage thought she would wither at the tension, Thrall allowed a tight thin smile to cross his lips. "Exceptionally clever, Jaina."
"Don't try to deny you haven't done the same with your men." Jaina returned his grin fondly.
He chuckled. "You noticed those talismans popping up all over the place did you?"
"What did you tell them it did? Made the pink skin pigs run in terror?" The arch-mage stifled a laugh, at remembering the grunts clutching the clay amulets that had arisen, seemingly overnight in the Horde encampment when she walked by.
It was no secret, for all the orcs loathing of a human that gave her begrudging respect for her power.
"It's a modest healing spell. Quite paltry for little more than scratches and the occasional welt. I told them it would help bolster their ferocity when fighting humans." Thrall explained.
Both shared a hearty long laugh at the cunning that had to be used. While it was a tad underhanded, neither leader was too fresh or inexperienced to know a few tricks to keep their men confident and therefore more manageable.
A human would work beside an orc with far less grumbling if it thought he had something ton surpass the skill of his hated foe beside him. A little piece of mind never hurt.
"You know this gives me an idea." Jaina remarked after their mirth pattered off.
Thrall wiped the corner of his eyes from tears of merriment. It was now his turn to look intrigued by her sly statement. "You have something that might help break a bit of the hatred and despising our people feel?"
"Something like that." She replied, though it sounded as though she were talking to herself. She absently twirled a tendril of her honey gold hair that Thrall knew as a sure sign of her lost in deep contemplation. He now always recognized what state she could fall into with ease. "Perhaps we could have a competition of sorts. To take their minds off the war for a day with a little friendly game or two."
"We could send your riflemen and our head hunters to hunt down a few of those enormous stags parading about the forest, for some tasty meat; a feast to fill their bellies as well as rejuvenate their hearts." Thrall added, warming immediately to the idea of a day of relaxing and fun for the troops in the sea of disparity.
"Then it's settled. We shall give our forces a day of relaxation to bolster them." The arch mage rose from her seat gracefully, like a diplomat in the old court of Kul'tiras having solved a perilous situation.
Always the perfect gentlemen, Thrall did likewise, causing a grin to press upon her face once more. "Your manners are impeccable as always, Warchief." She commented good naturedly as he meandered easily to her side of the table.
"Perhaps I shall reveal to you where I learned them one day, Lady Proudmoore. A day when we are not upon a foreign shore trying to deny the end of the words from crashing over us and obliterating all we hold dear." He offered a deep bow, jestingly.
The arch-mage could not suppress another laugh, at his all to truthful words.
It was only then they noticed, and not for the first time, how comfortable they were about one another and how…natural it felt to bandy words and share a soft grin and a laugh.
He had made a jest of the end of the world, and she had laughed at such, Thrall thought oddly. What other female, human or orc, would have chuckled at such a morbid sense of humor? What other woman, human or orc, was like Jaina?
Quite unexpectedly, as though the hand of fate pulled at the muscles of his being, the Warchief inclined his head slightly to lay a small, gentle kiss upon her lush lips. Her lips were softer than supple leather and sweet as moon juice and honey.
Alarm bells clanged sonorously through his mind as he receded away from the anathema he had just invoked. Why in the ancestors name had he done that! And why did he want to do it again!
Was it relief they had narrowly escaped disaster so many times in the past two weeks; trying to deny what they had shared before they had departed to seek the elves, or something far, far more? Was is that his mind totally never left that night they had passionately attacked one another's mouths to banish thoughts of pain concerning those they had once called friends and loves who where dead or sunken into depravity?
He stammered breathlessly towards the rigid sorceress as though he couldn't force his tongue to iterate words of its own accord. Her sapphire eyes were hooded by the veil of her lashes; concealing any emotion upon her face. "Jaina….forgive me… I don't know what came over me doing that….I just."
His words were swallowed up and forced roughly back his throat as she kissed him back with a fiery exuberance that rocked his entire sensibilities. The press of her lips, greedily devouring his kiss, flowed through his body like the power of the elements beckoning to his call.
For two weeks she had been craving to kiss him again, like tasting some forbidden wine, which intoxicated her senses. Days she had imagined what it would feel to have his lips upon her own again, and truly it was a wonderful as the first.
As their lips met in hungry, desperate passion, now alone and without the urgency of finding the elves or worrying over if their encampments were ablaze, Jaina gratefully thanked the light he had lost his self control only a few brief seconds before her perseverance crumbled into nothingness.
