::RING::
"More of them are here!" Irien beamed as another guest rang the string on a bell hanging outside the door of the duplex.
Hooves clopped on the linoleum floor of the kitchen, followed by the echoes of a heavy wooden object on the counter. "Not of the drinkings enough!" Anushka whined as she tried to juice more oranges in the kitchen.
"Ye go on ahead and get the door, I'll make sure the couch stays warm!" Vegnus, the dwarven bard-slash-postal worker who had been working with Cecilia and Irien since before Draenor, cackled as he refused to lift a finger to help.
Irien had spent nearly a month and a half without her two best friends and surrogate family - her only semblance of family, really, other than uncle Geldor and aunt Ralo'shan. They had done their best to stay in touch, she had to admit. Khujand usually wrote the letters and typical of his rambling style, they were long and full of more mundane details than she really needed. In any other situation Irien would mock him, but considering the danger they'd been in, she was grateful for her overanalytical surrogate brother's long winded nature.
The latter half of their foray into Durotar had been the most harrowing for her. After writing from Razor Hill, it took nearly another week before Irien received the next letter - written from the Crossroads. They had last left off before the final assault on Garot'jin's drug lab, and when she didn't hear from them again, Irien began spending many of her waking hours on the rooftop of Yaromira's villa, holding her own personal vigil as she waited out the saboteurs that eventually came. Once they did write, her spirits weren't particularly lifted due to agitation by rogue factions near the Barrens-Ashenvale border. Only when she received the news of Keeper Ordanus' pardon and granting of passage to the couple through Kaldorei lands did Irien finally relax, safe in the knowledge that the two people who she'd become co-dependant on were protected.
That didn't solve the practical problems of living alone, though. Irien had never lived alone before, not during the entirety of her one thousand and five years of life. During the Long Vigil, she lived with her mother much of the time as they patrolled the coast of Darkshore for potential invaders who never came. Eventually she moved in to a ranger academy in Auberdine, living in the barracks with other recruits. After flunking out, she returned to her mother's treehouse to live in shame. When her father returned to the family from the Emerald Dream after the Third War, the house became even more crowded and the shaming by the rest of her family in place of the expected support became unbearable. Even when she ran away, it was only to a Steamwheedle Cartel passenger ship at the port, and she shared a bunk with several other women. Just like Cecilia back at Booty Bay but on a shorter scale, Irien found herself living alone for the first time in her life when her mentor and role model took Khujand for a continental tour. It wasn't just the cooking and cleaning that got to her; Irien had carefully built her life around having the odd couple around her all the time. They were her confidantes, her advisers, her business partners, her housemates and the support group she never had back at home in Darkshore.
Not that Anushka wasn't fun to be around. The inane draenei constantly seeking attention was the perfect clingy, homebound friend for someone experiencing separation anxiety like Irien was. She helped out by doing housework without being asked, helped distract Allison so Irien could sneak away from work when needed and stayed awake on those mornings when Irien just couldn't get to sleep. That their work schedules (as well as Vegnus') matched up ensured that the sharpshooter was never alone. While that certainly did help her to feel better, it wasn't quite the same as having the other two members of the weird living arrangement present.
Which led, of course, to the small dinner they'd planned me that Vegnus had termed 'Irien's Pity Party.'
Peeking through the peephole, Irien spied four people - the outlines of a draenei couple and a worgen couple - waiting outside with hands full of containers and plates for the potluck dinner. Swinging the door open, Irien had to work to contain herself when greeting the more subdued members of her group of friends.
"You're early!" Irien cheered as she embraced Elizra, the worgen medical worker under the employ of the Steamwheedle security forces and the closest one to the door.
Elizra shoved the rest of the plates into her husband Tyron's hands at the last second before Irien grabbed her. "Well, we don't do the whole fashionably late thing," the medic laughed while being dragged inside.
Tyron, the only non-goblin bruiser in Ratchet, allowed Kiul to take some more of the food off his hands. He had apparently just clocked out of work as he hadn't even removed his light armor, and the heavy mace he used for breaking up brawls was still attached to his belt. "The cartel has us all used to living by the clock," he said with a haggard yet somehow still cheery tone in his voice. "You actually couldn't have chosen a better night; a drunken crew from Fuselight rammed their boat into one of the docks and we had a hell of a time keeping all the gawkers away."
The entire chattering group entered the house and wiped their feet and hooves on the mat in the anteroom - a habit common in any household whose occupants often didn't wear shoes. Just as their voices began to echo, Vegnus leapt from the couch in the shared gathering room across the hall and fiddled with all the utensils set up on a long table in order to look like he'd actually done some work. He had already shifted the plates around by the time the five made it to the room.
"Oh, nice te see ye all arrived so early!" Vegnus faked as he pretended to be surprised. "We've all been preparing things - especially me - but we managed te get ready just in time!"
Irien only rolled her eyes as the others greeted the dwarven bard and set their food items on the table. In any other situation she would have called him out in front of everybody, but in this case she let it slide. After all, the party had been his idea and Irien was just happy to have more people around. Before she even had time to take a subtle shot nobody else would have understood, the bell at the front rang again.
::RING::
"I forgot how to juicings!" Anushka yelped from the kitchen as an exaggerated, unnecessary panic broke through in her voice.
"I'll get it again, Vegnus; I'm sure the couch still needs to be warmed," Irien quipped as she returned to the front door. If the others noticed the barb then they didn't let it be known, though Vegnus did shoot her the embarrassed smile he'd flash whenever he had been caught in some sort of proverbial act.
Down the hall she bounded, literally bouncing on her toes in excitement for the last few steps. The thought of having most of their social circle over had Irien giddy and gleeful, and she finally began to forget her aching feeling of not having the rest of her household around. Swinging the door open, Irien was faced with a masked humanoid covered in fine fabrics from head to toe, Xyran, Xyran's nervous looking accountant cousin and half a dozen goblin women she had never seen before. Everyone was carrying at least one food item for the potluck save Xyran's cousin; ever the cheapskate, he had insisted on bringing a stack of cups instead.
"Party's arrived!" Xyran beamed in a manner which was, for him, unusually cheery.
"Oh - you weren't kidding when you said you'd bring extra food!" Irien said while scanning the gaggle of goblins carrying various fried dishes through the doorway. Turning to the masked, fur clad man with expressive, lively eyes, Irien was taken aback by the bowl of boiled asparagus he carried.
The well-dressed man seemed to notice and let out a little chuckle. "Well, I may no longer eat due to my condition," said Valmar, now the only full-time warrior trainer in Ratchet and one of the most appearance-conscious Forsaken undead that side of Kalimdor. "But I can always contribute something for everyone else."
Once Irien had gotten over her discomfort around the undead - most night elves would never consider adopting one as a close friend - she actually found Valmar's case sympathetic. Not only could he not sleep - Irien's own second favorite passtime after shooting people in the face - but he also couldn't eat or drink. That he retained such a sharp sense of smell made his condition torture for sure.
"The asparagus smells nice for asparagus!" Irien chortled while trying to figure out what to tell the man in consolation. Just then, she remembered his frequent foil and debate partner, the only naga resident in Ratchet and one of the few non-hostile members of his race. "Is Ghorlash coming?"
Carefully removing his boots so as to leave his thick socks undisturbed - Valmar never allowed anyone to catch a glimpse of what he looked like under his mask and all the silks and furs - the undead sighed despite not needing to breathe. "Apparently, he and his wife take turns sitting on their eggs," he said, and Irien assumed that even one as polite as Valmar had difficulty keeping a straight face.
"You're kidding...well...I guess it makes sense considering their biology," she said while trying not to laugh.
"Right. So the old snake said he would try to stop by to say hello and bring a plate back for Serpentra, but he didn't want to stay too long lest he leave her high and dry." As if he didn't realize what he'd said, Valmar went silent and didn't finally laugh out loud until Irien did.
Though a few more locals had yet to arrive, the fourteen in the sitting room plus herself and Anushka were more than enough to keep Irien company. The gaggle of goblins had already begun schmoozing with the much larger guests around the food table as Irien led Valmar behind them, stopping briefly to remark on his choice in clothing for the evening. The Forsaken could give Anushka a run for her money in terms of dressing for an occasion, though he had a much smarter fashion sense. Speaking of which, Irien had begun wondering if the perennially overdressed draenei was faring well with her battle against the juicer in the kitchen.
She didn't have to wonder for long.
"Helpings!" Anushka yelped from the kitchen.
Valmar shot Irien a knowing look. "Perhaps I'll join the others," he said after some hesitation. "It seems Anushka may be in need of your assistance."
"Indeed it does!" Irien replied, trying to mimic the undead warrior-scholar's method of speaking.
When she entered the kitchen, Irien just barely avoided stepping in a flood of orange juice.
"Anushka, what happened!" she cried out as she gazed upon the aftermath of a citrus tsunami which must have swept the kitchen.
The entire countertop and much of the floor was covered in the juice and pulp of locally grown central Kalimdor oranges, and a few peels were lying scattered around as well. The kitchen table had been overturned in whatever melee had taken place, if only to add to the nonsensical mess in the center of the room. Somehow, some way, Anushka's imported, baggy-sleeved floral patterned dress appeared to be soaked in the juice of about half the original oranges, while the three pitchers rolling around on the floor were oddly spotless.
Although Irien was usually the level headed one to always crack jokes as a coping mechanism, in such situation she couldn't prevent her jaw from slacking open. Of course, she would never ever be upset at the port's favorite spaz for being a spaz, but in this case a bit of shock was deserved.
"Anushka...what...how?"
"The orangings!" she stammered nervously, as if she'd done something wrong. "Not to be fault my own!" Her syntactical accuracy when speaking Common seemed to decrease even more when under duress, and she sputtered out a few more sentences so disjointed that Irien couldn't even remember them a few seconds later.
Attempting to both calm herself and the overreacting drama queen in front of her, Irien reached out with both hands. "Everything is fine-"
"Aaiiieee, please to be no blamings!" Anushka cried as she ran behind the curtain covering the kitchen window, soaking it with orange juice from her dress in the process.
"Ack! Wait! The juice from your dress will stain the curtains!" Irien began tugging the curtain away, which only made the perturbed draenei panic.
"I am to sorry!" Anushka howled from behind the curtain for no good reason as she spun in a circle in an attempt to avoid Irien grabbing her. She became entangled in the fabric, which seemed to make her panic more as she looked like a scared housecat with its head stuck in a small space. "Helpings!"
"Hold still, you're making it worse!" Irien ordered in vain as she tried to keep Anushka standing up.
After a final slide of her hooves, Anushka tripped and pulled the curtain down with her. It had only been held onto a support bar with clothespins anyway and came detached rather easily, leaving the spaz wrapped up with all but her hooves and ankles poking out. Like a gigantic blue pizza roll, she barreled straight into a pool of crushed orange pulp and Irien could do nothing but step back to avoid being splashed, leaving Anushka in a soggy, panting, unseen heap.
"Apologings," she whimpered, unashamed once her face had been hidden. "I has a fail."
Irien sighed as she gazed at the embarrassed and embarrassing heap at her feet. "It's okay, Anushka," she tried to say as soothingly as possible. "One of the neighbors has a kid who works as a runner. We can send him for more juice."
The curtain bobbed up and down as though Anushka were shaking her head. "What will I have to wearings," she whined.
Before even asking, Irien squatted in front of her spastic friend, cradled the wrapped up curtain and threw Anushka over her shoulder like a soggy sack of oranges. "Come on upstairs," she muttered, stifling her own voice to avoid laughing. "We're the same size, you can wear that gaudy green dress that I've never actually put on."
Up the stairs they went; Irien could relax knowing that Vegnus could do more than enough talking to keep the others preoccupied while she fought what was likely to be a battle to get Anushka to towel herself briefly and wear an outfit just a little less flashy than she was used to at a party.
As the party wound up, Irien bid the last of the goblin revelers goodbye at the door save Xyran, who was never the first to leave. Even though she never learned the names of the goblin ladies from the local paper pushers' union or the nervous accountant cousin, they'd been a joy to have around and had dominated the conversation with their joking and unnecessarily loud laughter. By the time they had left several hours later, most everyone else were nearly experiencing abdominal cramps from all the cackling at the outlandish behavior of the short greenskins, and that was what they were like when sober - Cecilia saw no difference between alcohol and drugs and banned it all from the house. Had she not done so, Irien imaged the goblins would have practically killed everyone with laughs.
Once Irien reentered the sitting room, she found everyone relaxing into the chairs, including the extra ones Sonja and her human husband, Erikur, had brought with them while she'd been forcibly washing Anushka's hair upstairs. As always, Erikur looked as though he hadn't slept enough, though he also seemed grateful to have his two unbelievably energetic half-human, half-troll children occupied with Anushka's similar maturity level. The single draenei female had refused the gaudy green dress and opted for a suit of Irien's mail armor instead, and the three balls of energy who all seemed to possess the same sense of humor busied themselves out on the front lawn.
All was well, save for the absence of two guests who had never made it - until Irien heard the sound of Sonja and Erikur's children creating a ruckus out front.
"Sounds like a certain scaly and furry duo have arrived," she quipped, though at that point everyone else was too exhausted to laugh any more.
Rising and making her way to the anteroom, Irien breathed deeply as she marveled at how quickly the stress of being alone had left her once her friends surrounded her. Obviously she wouldn't be able to have everyone over like this every day; the cleanup in and of itself would punish her, Anushka and - so help her Goddess - Vegnus over the weekend. But for that night, Irien was reminded of how truly lucky she was. Only a decade ago, she'd barely been considered responsible enough to venture outside of Auberdine on her own. Night elves typically considered themselves adults around the age of a hundred and ten years, and Irien was more than a thousand, but her family members were particularly controlling. That stifling environment, coupled with the fact that she had failed to pass any trials for any sort of class or profession at all, meant that she had always been viewed as forever irresponsible and in need of being kept at home. She'd ran away on a goblin ship and never looked back confident that she couldn't return home but knowing nothing of what the future could hold.
She could have ended up like Cecilia, but unlike the ancient huntress, Irien may not have made it through the horrors of Booty Bay's eastside. All things considered, Irien couldn't have asked for more: property in a busy port she coowned with two best friends who would do anything for her, stable work with the least morally ambiguous of the neutral cartels and a circle of friends who respected her and appreciated her company.
Perhaps she had allowed herself to become a little too comfortable - as she was reminded when facdd with the 'something is wrong' cackle of Meatball, everyone's favorite gnoll enforcer.
"You guys made it!" Irien nearly chirped as she opened the door to find Meatball and Ghorlash standing before her.
Ghorlash remained outside due to the odd dimensions of his body which prevented him from entering most normal doorways. Flapping his webbed ears, he waited patiently on the front lawn as Anushka and the two kids tried to play one-sided jump rope with his tail. Even on Ghorlash's reptilian face, however, the concern was apparent.
"We have, Miss Rainsong," the massive myrmidon said with his unnaturally echoing voice. "Though we do not bear good news."
She tilted her head to the side as Meatball offered her a letter from Khujand. "What is it this time?" Irien asked with a concerned tone.
Taking the letter from the strangely quiet gnoll, Irien began reading. It mostly seemed to discuss the end of their late, extended visit to Astranaar, their plans to visit there more regularly in the future and their intention to stop at Raynewood Retreat on the way back. Nothing appeared out of order other than the fact that by the time Cecilia and Khujand arrived at home, they would have been gone for nearly two months.
She looked up at Meatball quizically, not understanding the problem. "CHECK THE DATE," he suggested with the specific cackle he used when saying something ominous.
Irien did as he asked, noticing the postage marks at Astranaar, then the neutral north Barrens waystation, then the Crossroads, then Ratchet. Examining the dates a bit more closely, she began to realize what her friends were trying to warn her about.
Her eyes snapped up. "Ghorlash, wait here!" Irien hushed as she ran inside with Meatball.
Inside the sitting room, a sort of lull had settled over everyone else. It was the sort of quiet, intermittent banter at the end of a party when everyone was out of energy but nobody wanted to be the first person to go home. Much of that weariness melted away when Irien burst into the room, looking to her friends for guidance. All eyes were suddenly on her as the gears were turning in her head.
"Yara, Vegnus...Cici and Khuj were supposed to have left Astranaar four days ago, if it took five for the letter to arrive here from there," Irien spoke at a million miles a minute.
Sensing the urgency, Yaromira sat up, flipping into manager mode. "The postal route from there to here is stable and will always take five days," the married draenei female said in her professional, slightly know-it-all voice.
"If they remained at Raynewood for two days, then that means it's been more than a day since they've left, right?" Irien asked, a fear settling in to her voice which Vegnus seemed to pick up on.
"We don't know how many days they mey have steyed," he said cautiously. "What's this all about?"
"If they wrote to us from there, it wouldn't have arrived yet, would it?" Irien asked again.
"Not possible," Yaromira answered. She appeared concerned as well but was patient with Irien's line of questioning. "It would still take four days from Raynewood and three days from the waystation." Already, she was following Irien's reasoning.
Valmar leaned forward in his chair. "That meeting of Warsong Outrider veterans at the Crossroads dragged on and fanned out," one of the only two fully-fledged members of the Horde in their social circle reasoned. "They're all over the villages of the northern Barrens."
Elizra caught on next. "That rogue faction from the Silverwing Sentinels has formed a guild and is reportedly harassing both factions in the area," the worgen woman murmured as her husband's ears flattened back against his head.
Kiul stood up with a sigh. "They both left those organizations on poor terms," the draenei male explained to a confused looking Tyron. "And now there's a breakaway group of sentinels stoking the flames of conflict around the Mor'shan Rampart-"
"Right where Cici and Khuj will be flying!" Irien gasped. "For sure they'll assume Warsong Gulch would see the worst of the fighting and would take a more easternly route, looping around before the waystation! They'll by flying directly over the most likely spot for conflict to erupt between the two sides!"
Everyone in the room stood up just as Anushka entered with the two children, and Sonja ruffled her kids' hair as she thought out loud. "If they already left Raynewood, there be no way ta warn them."
Silence fell over the room as it slowly dawned on everyone, save the two children, what had to be done.
Sticking his scaly head and neck through the window, Ghorlash butted in. "All of us - every one of us here - forged new lives for ourselves in this city with their support," the naga echoed through the entire duplex. "We owe Miss and Mister Hearthglen much for what we now have."
"Then there's only one thing we can do," Xyran sighed, "if we can't warn them in time."
"I've got a bad feeling," Tyron growled. "It takes an entire day and more to fly to the waystation. The Crossroads is still factional; we have to skip-"
"Not while I'm with you all," Valmar stated with more fervor than Irien was used to hearing him speak with. "We'll fly right through the Crossroads and land right in the middle of Mor'shan."
"You can't be serious!" Tyron protested.
"Dead serious and no pun intended," the undead countered. "Time is of the essence; I will make the Horde authorities understand whether they want to or not."
"He's right; we don't have time! Cici and Khuj are flying right into the belly of the beast!" Irien was as frantic as she was insistent, already doing her arm waving thing. "We need a plan, and fast - every second counts!"
Sonja had been turning around when Irien noticed that her husband had disappeared. Just then the door burst open, and not only did Erikur look haggard but also winded from apparently running to their home and back. Ever since his sister had died in the Plaguelands, the human had become withdrawn and brooding. Wielding the steam powered rivet gun he used when working with Ghorlash at the ship repair yard - Ratchet had the largest and most advanced of such docks on Azeroth - Erikur appeared ready to commit murder for the sake of his friends. A look of darkness spread on his face even made his huge naga coworker uneasy and he might have even given pause to Cecilia and Khujand themselves. Before he spoke, Sonja signaled for their kids to cover their ears.
"We will fly right into Mor'shan and march," he muttered in a barely audible voice. Despite being more than half a foot shorter than everyone in the room save his own children and Xyran, Erikur appeared more determined than everyone, even Irien herself. "Let all who prevent us from protecting our friends die as painfully as possible."
A second wave of silence washed over the room as the full extent of the seriousness at hand was laid bare. Eyes darted around like the calm before the storm. Taking the lead as manager, Yaromira clapped her hands twice.
"Let's get to work!"
Chaos ensued as every single person, the half-troll half-human children included, scattered in different directions. People were shoving aside chairs and tables, either running to the Hearthglen armory in the basement or returning to their own homes to grab whatever armaments they needed. Shouts and orders were tossed around as everyone fought through the confusion to find their role.
"We can watch the kids!" Kiul said to Sonja as the Darkspear woman appeared lost at first.
"Oh...right! Erikur, I'll see tha little ones off ta Yara and Kiul's place," Sonja shouted a little louder than necessary as she took the two squirming children in her arms. "My daggers and leathers are at home!" He had already shouldered his rivet gun and exited before she finished her sentence.
"I can organize around the clock security detail for your, Irien's and the Brents' houses while everyone is gone," Xyran said to Sonja just before she left.
"We owe ya one!"
"Never thought I'd say this to anybody, but you actually don't this time," Xyran said as he ducked under Valmar, who was likely rushing home for his rapier.
Tyron looked to Xyran, who was one of the highest ranking bruisers in Ratchet. "I have duty tomorrow-"
"Are you kidding? I'll have you covered." The diminutive goblin was by far the most relaxed among the group, even more so than Yaromira. "This is the only day I'm doing favors aside from whenever my daughter has her wedding; if you're going to ask for something, ask now!"
"We'll spot you for her trousseau later," Elizra joked, though the way Xyran nodded as he narrowly got out of the way of the draenei couple insinuated that he would probably take them up on it, though that was neither here nor there for the moment.
Xyran, Meatball and an unusually speechless Vegnus all filed out of the duplex, everyone stopping briefly as Irien shouted out the window loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. "Everybody meet at the flight point in half an hour!" she commanded like a boss. "I'll reserve every wyvern, hippogriff and gryphon they have!"
Just as she turned to leave, she was faced with Anushka. The spastic draenei was tightening the belt around Irien's mail armor with a very stern look on her face. Irien blinked a few times when she realized what Anushka was trying to do.
"Anushka...Xyran could use help watching all the houses-"
"I'm goings!" she insisted with far more power in her voice than Irien had ever thought possible.
"Anushka, listen to me...this isn't an adventure. This isn't a quest. We're looking at a small-scale battle here."
"Cici and Kunjad my friendships too!" she retorted with such emotion that her voice cracked. "I know what you sayings! I know the people make jokings on me! But this is the time! This is final countdown, and all of us must there to be for them! I am goings, Irien, I must to goings!"
Her seriousness was touching. While Yaromira was hundreds of years old and Kiul was thousands, everyone suspected that Anushka was barely out of her teens. It was hard to tell and she always dodged such personal questions. Everyone loved her as a sort of bumbling clutz, and it was generally understood that she wasn't allowed on the local bounty quests the residents often called on Irien, Cecilia and Khujand for in times of need. Yet standing in front of her there, Irien felt an assertiveness emanating from Anushka that not only meant she wouldn't take no for an answer; it likely meant she just might be ready for her first experience with how rough the world could be. It was worrying and endearing at the same time.
"Alright," Irien sighed, acquiescing. "But stay close to me."
This time, Anushka didn't rush forward to hug Irien giddily. She didn't jump up and down and cheer. She only stood up straight and saluted, and for once, Irien didn't feel like laughing at her attempt to be serious.
Snatching one of her many spare rifles - in particular, one hidden underneath the main couch in the sitting room - Irien led Anushka out the front door. To her delight, Ghorlash was still there, having hung back even after everyone else left for last minute preparations.
"I asked Vegnus to inform Serpentra that she'll need to sit on the eggs herself a little longer," he droned. "I swear she's going to have my - hey, what - ack!"
Yanking on his tail and back spines as though they were handles, Irien and Anushka both leapt up on top of the sea monster from a thousand fathoms. His broad shoulders, slightly hunched back and long neck almost provided a sort of natural platform for them to ride. He did not appear to appreciate his role as surrogate mount.
"My coatl is already available at the flight point," he grumbled, though he hadn't shoved the two women of while he slithered to the new ground-and-air-mount stable complex on the bluffs overlooking the city. "Plus, there should be enough flying mounts for all of you anyway."
Filled with purpose, determination and familial concern for Cecilia and Khujand, Irien ignored Ghorlash's complaints entirely. She clicked her heels against both sides of his neck as they rode, eliciting an indignant hiss from his nostrils.
"Tally hooooo!" Irien yelled across town, pointing with her rifle up the winding road leading to the flight point in spite of regulations about brandishing weapons within city limits. "One way or another, we're bringing our friends home!"