DISCLAIMER: I do not now, nor have I ever, owned any of the characters or settings in the Blizzard gaming universe. I own only the characters I myself have created. All rights go to Blizzard Entertainment and its affiliates.
EDITOR'S NOTE: The characters I have created do not reflect my own personal opinions or beliefs; they are merely constructs useful in the telling of this story. I have not created any character for the purpose of inserting myself or any other individual into the story. They are merely characters.
Bates hated being left behind. Never literally of course; the motto of the Stormwind Marines was 'Never leave a Man Behind', and Archer had that ingrained in his being. It was never a question; their unit came back dead or alive with all hands accounted for.
It was the waiting, the hoping, the guess work and extrapolation that Bates hated. He was the second in command, and he was damn good at his job; everyone said so.
And what was his job?
To be left behind. Archer would lead the men; that wasn't optional. Inured, exhausted, literally starving... It didn't matter. Where the men went, Archer went, and he would be the first into the trenches, Ogre's den, or Goblin whorehouse, every time. Non-negotiable.
Which was better than some of the 'Brass' officers back home. Far too many officers had the tactician's mind, but the civilian spine, and would gladly hear about the hardships of his troops from the safety and warmth of his command tent. Back in the Northrend Campaign, thousands of good men and women had been conscripted, and through Cult of the Damned infiltration, had been literally left out in the cold. Officers were mislead, mind-controlled, turned traitor, or just simply corrupted with the all mighty gold coin, and the enlisted folk suffered. No wonder when the war was over, those same men and women had turned to the New Brotherhood for answers.
Focusing back on the task at hand, Bates forced himself to turn away from the Orchish fortress. Archer would have that under control; it would be the one thing Bates wouldn't have to worry about. It was only everything else that was on his plate. From rations, medical supplies, personnel disputes, and local customs, Bates had seen just about everything imaginable, and still managed to occasionally swoop in with a fast transport home and a few beers to celebrate with. Bates was the 'Closer', the 'Finisher', the 'Cleaner'. He was the one that made 'Happily Ever After' end in anything other than disaster.
And over all, through the years, he'd come to the conclusion that he hated it with a passion. Some people would love his job and all the danger that didn't come with it, but that was just it. Sergeant Archer would be out there in the thick of it, making his country and his Alliance proud, while Bates got stuck with the mop and bucket, filing reports and dealing with the headaches.
Speaking of those headaches, his ears perked up at the sound of Captain Rogers.
Again.
"I'm telling you, I'm fine! Get off of me and tend to someone else!"
Her annoyed and still groggy orders had been ringing out incessantly since Archer had left, and Bates had just hit his limit. Letting out a long breath, he spun on his heel and locked eyes on the raging woman.
"Captain Rogers." Bates snapped, loud enough for everyone present to hear him. Protocol and respect were out the proverbial window now, but what was Rogers going to do?
Throw him in the brig?
"You are injured, suffering from blood loss, and currently unable to even stand up to have this discussion." Bates pointed out, standing over her with arms folded. "Your second in command is dead, your ship is in a million pieces, and your other officers are either dead or wounded. Stormwind Naval protocol puts Sergeant Archer in command until we rejoin Alliance forces, and right now, he's left me in charge."
Rogers, fighting to keep her eyes open, glared up at Bates angrily. "You're going to pull protocol on me?"
Nostrils flaring like a bull, Bates knelt down to come face to face with the woman. "Ma'am, I'll pull a sword on you if means shutting you up. Any and all noise could draw the rest of the Horde down on us, and we're in no position to either retreat or resist an attack. So, my first and only order to you, ma'am, is to shut up."
If there had been any blood left in her face, it would have run to Rogers' cheeks. Finally giving up the argument, she sank back onto her back on the stretched out cloak. Letting her blonde hair fall back over her face, it was a long moment before she clawed it away again. Blood streaked and singed, her long hair was normally tucked into a tight bun under the traditional Naval captain's hat, it's white plumage and deep blue satin long discarded on the Skyfire. Without it, Rogers almost looked like a normal, albeit beautiful, human woman.
"Any sign of Archer?" Rogers weakly asked, sensing Bates' eyes still on her.
Swallowing the taste of fear in his mouth, Bates shook his head. "Not yet. They haven't been gone that long; probably not even to the fortress yet."
"We can see the damn thing from here." Rogers shot back, rolling onto her side to see the looming walls of steel.
Bates shrugged, not sure if Rogers was even paying attention to his responses. "I doubt they're doing a dead sprint; they're probably taking it slow in case the Horde has any surprises waiting."
Surprises. Like, for instance, an entire fortress on a previously undiscovered landmass in the middle of what should be the Veiled Sea. The Elves had avoided sailing this close to the mists for thousands of years, it was only for their Light-forsaken mission that they had dared to head so far south. Honestly, Bates himself had been expecting to find some sick mirror of Northrend and the southern pole of Azeroth. The Gnomes had been predicting something similar, anyway, and they were rarely wrong on such things.
Instead, there was a jungle and a million bloodthirsty Orcs.
Still lost in thought, Bates' barely noticed when Rogers' eyes went wide, and she had to grab his knee where it rested in the sand to get his attention.
"Corporal. Movement in the trees, just behind you."
Bates cursed his own inattention and his mind raced a mile a minute. He and Rogers were on the edge of the small camp, with those few Marines that weren't injured moving in a loose patrol around the perimeter. Those who were critically injured had been placed in the center of the group so as to be closer to the medics treating them, while Rogers had insisted on being on the edge, closest to the strange forest on their heels.
Taking in a sharp breath, Bates called out in a tone no one could mistake.
"Kitty. Mad Midget. Spank the Troll, six o'clock."
Immediately, two marines jumped up from where they were sitting and stole away to the edge of the group, waiting on the next step in the plan. 'Mad Midget' was a Night Elf man, close to seven feet tall, and with an ominous, serious nature that contrasted sharply with his nickname. Only veteran members of the unit knew the origin behind the nickname, and the Goblin woman who'd started it. But it had stuck, and so Mad Midget was christened.
Kitty was much simpler to explain; the Gilnean woman's Worgen form was decidedly feline in appearance, as many female Worgen were, and 'Kitty' had unanimously been adopted.
"One and a Half, distraction."
The human woman in question jumped to her feet and whirled on Bates as if insulted, a demented grin already forming. In an accident years earlier, she'd suffered a horrific injury to her torso that had severed her right arm and one of her breasts. Healers had done their best, and though the arm had been reattached with minimal side effects, her feminine figure was never the same. With the right armor, it was impossible to tell, but the private loved to talk about and show off the scars whenever possible.
Thus the nickname, which she herself had started.
"Hot and fast, or sticky?"
Bates rolled his shoulder and groaned out an answer. "Sticky; I think I popped something in my shoulder during the crash."
Without any further hesitation, One and a Half slapped Bates across the face and started shouting obscenities.
"How dare you? You think I'm some cheap, back alley whore like your mother?"
Bates, used to the routine, feigned anger and held out his arms in protest. "I saw ass, I grabbed ass! You know that's how I work!"
At the noise, every sailor and Marine present stopped to stare at the argument, eyes wide and jaws slack. Meanwhile, Kitty and Mad Midget had slipped out of sight and into the trees, grinning at the display.
Rogers, unfamiliar with this exact tactic, knew Bates well enough by now to know something was up. Eyes still on the treeline, even she couldn't stifle a grin at the Marines' antics.
"Well, this ass is more than you can handle, Corporal! Tell me again, how did you get promoted over me? Was your daddy from Arathi, or did that brown nose just spread all over your face?"
Bates, biting his tongue to avoid laughing, tried to remember the correct comeback while keeping a sideways glance on the trees. The two Marines were nearly to the faint rustle of movement coming from behind the strange, thin tree trunks of the forest.
Dark skinned from birth, his parents had, in fact, been of Arathi descent. Humans from that region had always borne darker skin and broader frames from the harsh life in the hot plains, and the men loved bringing up the stereotypes associated with his particular heritage. Actual racism was rare to non-existent, with the other non-human races taking the brunt of that.
"As a matter of fact, I am Arathi, and you know what that means?" Bates asked, stepping closer to One and a Half.
Grinning from ear to ear, the woman stepped towards him until they were nose to nose.
"You've got a wand the size of a broadsword?"
"Nope. My ass-cheeks get sticky when I sweat."
By now, most of the sailors listening were rolling in laughter, and a sharp whistle told Bates that the Troll had indeed been spanked. Dropping the act, he whipped out his short saber and turned to face the pair of marines and their prize, One and a Half right behind him.
Kitty had assumed her furrier persona, and for once, she wasn't the only one with fur in sight. She and Mad Midget were hauling along a male... something... who was covered from head to toe in black and white fur. Small, round ears sat at the very top of the man's head, while an ursine snout came complete with whiskers and a wet black nose.
Wide eyes took in the sight of the assembled marines, while strange leather armor covered his thick form, artistic designs in strange patterns showing off the obvious craftsmanship of the leather worker who'd made the pieces.
In Mad Midget's hands was a cross bow and quiver that had obviously been confiscated from the stranger, the same artistic quality evident in the weapon's construction.
"Only weapon we found on him was this; he seems scared out of his mind." Midget reported, handing over his prize to Bates.
"Good work, Mad Midget." Bates praised.
"My name is Talren Sparrowelm."
Laughing softly, Bates nodded to him before turning to their guest.
"Well well well. What do we have here?"
A long string of a foreign language spilled out of the man, eyes wide and chest heaving in panic. Kneeling in the soft sand, the stranger gestured wildly at the crossbow, tears forming as he tried to beg it off of Bates.
"You'll get it back." Bates promised, hoping his tone would carry through. Turning to the assembled sailors behind him, he spoke loud enough for all to hear.
"Anyone speak whatever this guy's speaking?"
A long silence answered him, and again, he turned to the Night Elf man before him. "How old are you, Talren?"
Doing some mental math, Mad Midget spit out a rough estimate. "Eight thousand years, give or take a century."
"And how many languages do you speak?"
Looking down at his boots in embarrassment, this answer came much faster. "Two..."
Sighing, Bates turned back to the stranger. "Sign language it is, then."
The stranger's eyes still lingered on the crossbow, almost like a mother seeing her child. Frowning in thought, Bates carefully took the weapon, and after checking twice that it was unloaded and not in the least bit dangerous, he handed it back to the man.
Kitty and Midget tensed noticeably, weapons at the ready, but Bates waved them off.
As soon as the cool wood was back in the man's hands, he relaxed and let out a long breath. Another long string of foreign words came, but Bates still couldn't make heads or tails of them. By the tone, however, he had to guess that the weapon was some kind of family heirloom. On a wild guess, Bates would have said it had been the man's father's, and just holding the unloaded weapon seemed to calm him.
"Okay. Now, where did you come from?" Bates asked, gesturing with his hands into the woods. "In there? Or..." Turning, he waved to the Orc fortifications on the horizon.
At the sight of the iron walls, the stranger frowned and bared his canine teeth. Spitting into the sand, he shook his head and uttered one word that Bates knew immediately.
"Horde."
"Well, there's some common ground." Bates said with a smile.
Before anyone could ask another question, the man rose to his feet, and motioned as if he holding a flag. Grandly planting his imaginary flag in the sand, he spoke the word again, feigned arrogance clear.
"For the Horde!" He spit again, shaking his head and glaring out at the fortress. "Horde, Sha'a."
"Sha'a?" Bates asked, butchering the accent entirely. It was said with enough conviction that he figured it must mean something, and at his repetition, the man nodded stiffly.
"Horde, Sha'a." Pointing at the rest of the sailors around him, he raised an eyebrow in question. "...Horde?"
Bates shook his head, reaching for the folded tabard that One and a Half offered him. "No. Alliance." Pointing to the golden embroidered lion clearly visible on the marine's uniform.
Narrowing his eyes, the stranger tried out the strange word. "Aal... I... ents." Grabbing his imaginary flag again, he made a show of planting it once more, eyebrow raised as he glanced at Bates.
"For the... Aal-i-ents?"
At Bates' pause, Rogers finally spoke up. "He's asking if we're claiming his land like the Orcs did."
Rising to her feet painfully, she leaned heavily on Kitty, who had since resumed her human form. Now holding the stranger's attention, she waved her hand in an obvious sign of dismissal.
"No. We're looking for something, and then we'll leave. We are not the Horde."
Not understanding her meaning, he heard enough of her tone to understand her next words.
"They claimed my home, too."
All those present felt a twinge of pain as they thought again of Southshore, and the lives lost to needless aggression. They'd all lost something, and some had lost everything. Had the Horde already claimed more innocent lives? Had one more homeland been scarred by war and violence?
"So, you're no friend of the Orcs. Where do you come from then?" Bates asked, gesturing again at the woods where the man had come from.
Turning to the sand now, the man drew a series of crude pictures with a long claw in the sand. As they watched, a surprisingly well drawn village with strange, curved lines appeared on a mountain. Leading down was a path that forked in two, with one leading to the beach where they now stood. Motioning to his own eyes, he pointed to the sky where the Skyfire once hovered, and then at the site where she'd crashed into the water.
"So, he saw the firefight and came to investigate." Bates summed up.
"Brilliant deduction." Rogers snapped. Still staring at the stranger, she nodded up at the woods. "Your village is back that way?"
The man nodded, seemingly understanding her perfectly.
Rogers nodded back at the various wounded, and waved at her own bloody bandages. "We have wounded; do your people have healers?"
Narrowing his eyes at the wounded men and women, the man nodded firmly. Pointing towards the woods, he looked between Bates and Rogers as if urging them onward.
"Bates, you're with me. Kitty, is it?" She asked, turning to the Gilnean.
"PFC Emma Corbyn, at your service." Kitty said grandly, her accent coming through as strong as ever.
"Find me a crutch. Chief Engineer Blackspark?"
A gray haired Gnomish man with a singed mustache looked up, rising to his feet a moment later.
"You have command. Bates, you and your men are with me. We're going to check out that village."
Bates nodded to Kitty, who stepped into the trees again looking for the Captain's new crutch. Turning back to Rogers, he tried to find an argument that would stop the woman.
"Sergeant Archer wanted us to stay here; if he comes back with the Horde on his heels..."
"Then we'd better have an evac route set up if that happens. Look, Corporal..." At Bates objection, she rolled her eyes and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm going to investigate whether you come, or not. Do you want to explain to Archer that you let me wander into the jungle with a Furbolg, alone?"
Bates truly hated that she was right, but she was. Rolling his jaw to relieve the tension, he nodded to the Marines behind him, who were already ready to march. By the knowing looks in their eyes, they'd known exactly how the conversation was going to end from the start.
"Alright. Let's go, and hopefully be back before Sergeant Archer." Bates conceded, laughing mentally at the chances of that.
Taking the crude wooden crutch Kitty had tossed her, Rogers raised an eyebrow dangerously. "Or what? He'll spank you?"
There was a deadly, tangible silence, broken after a moment by Bates himself.
"Ma'am, with all due respect..." Locking eyes with the woman, a smile fighting to break free, he forced himself to sound serious. "Shut up and march."
A few choking laughs escaped from the sailors within earshot as the group marched into the trees, the stranger leading the small column.
Rogers did her best to hobble on her makeshift crutch, but it was obvious that the battle had taken more out of her than she was willing to admit. Even with the efforts of their resident Priestess, she was lagging as the six of them made their way up a hill, the trees pressing in closer as they went.
The strange specimens were unlike anything the five Alliance members had encountered; from Northrend to even the scorched Outland, the long, slender trees seemed almost like living spears, with segments like insects as thick around as a human hand. They grew in tight clusters, with little foliage brave enough to approach besides the equally strange, sweet smelling grasses underfoot.
All at once, a stone pathway formed, with intricate carvings marking the way. As Bates passed by one of the markers, he couldn't help but stop to study it.
Standing as tall as he was, at least six inches taller than the stranger still trudging along ahead, the statue almost reminded him of the Draenei among them, if not for the obvious evil emanating from it. A small head, broad chest, and piercing eyes sat on the otherwise almost human creature, a thick under bite revealing blunt fangs, one of which had chipped away from age. Moss covered the statue from head to toe, and at least one spider had made a web in the creature's open hand.
"Mogu."
The word made Bates flinch and turn, the stranger suddenly standing within arm's reach of him.
"Mogu?" Bates asked, the word simple enough for even him to mimic.
Nodding gravely, the stranger clutched his crossbow closer to his chest. The arrows were still with Midget, but the man seemed comforted just to have the weapon in hand as he studied the statue beside Bates. With a sudden wave of dismissal, he turned on his heel and uttered what must have been a curse under his breath.
Another long string of foreign language came, which by tone alone seemed to be 'we're almost there'. Once again leading the column, he paid no more attention to the stone artwork.
Falling into step besides Rogers, Bates couldn't shake the ominous feeling from the statue.
"Think it's based on a real species?" Rogers asked, nodding over her shoulder.
"I'd say so, by our friend's reaction." Bates answered with a shrug.
Before Rogers could ask another question, Bates kicked a stone out of the way of her crutch. Oblivious to it, and the next one, she tripped and cursed under her breath. Falling nearly into Bates' arms, he stiffly scooped the woman up in his arms, damsel-in-distress style, and held her crutch in one hand.
Gritting her teeth with pain and embarrassment, she glared daggers at Bates who was now practically nose to nose with her. "Under no circumstances are you to tell Archer about this!"
Bates raised an eyebrow and easily hopped over a deep rut in the path, with Rogers pressed firmly into his chest.
"Same to you, ma'am! Our asses are supposed to be back in camp right now, not going on a nature walk."
Both of the officers turned their attention back to the path ahead as Kitty shouted in warning, pointing with her rifle to the break in the trees not twenty feet in front of her.
All at once, the strange trees had parted, and the strange structures Archer had spotted loomed grandly before them. Two and three stories, the stone walled buildings each featured the same ornate artwork, as well as curved rooftops and circular doors and windows. Winding paths led between them, with lanterns hanging from poles, unlit for the time being.
Walking on those paths were more of the creatures of the stranger's species, each adorned with the same leather armor. Wide, circular hats rested on their heads to shield their pale fur from the hot sun, giving the entire scene a completely foreign feel. Not even in the ruins of Shattrath City had Bates felt more out of place.
Before anyone could comment on the strange sight, a dozen men swooped out of the strange trees, weapons in place and pointed towards Bates' men.
Dropping Rogers' on her good leg, Bates whipped out his combat knife and tried to bring his rifle to bear with his free hand, only to have it ripped away by a woman with a black silk mask covering her face. Twin, burning yellow eyes stared out at him, right as a paw slammed into his chest and sent him to the ground.
"Sir? We're surrounded!" Kitty shouted, her own weapon jerked away as she reached for it.
"Weapons down! Weapons down; we're outnumbered!" Bates ordered, waving to his men as a shining steel blade was placed inches from his nose.
"...and outgunned." Bates ground out, hoping his people would follow the order without any bloodshed. In any other place, at any other time, he would gladly have fought it out hand to hand, but a few factors led to a much different product.
First, they were the strangers here, and the natives weren't technically the enemy. Second, Bates would probably have done the same thing if he'd seen a half dozen armed strangers marching into Goldshire. Finally, and most importantly, the rest of their people had no idea where they were. If they fought it out and lost, Archer would know only that he'd lost five people in the woods with no idea why.
Fighting the urge to slap the blade out of his face, Bates waited as the strangers pulled him to his feet and herded his marines into a tight circle, with Rogers in the center. The burning anger in her eyes told Bates that she'd gone through a similar mental evaluation and conclusion.
Only when the strangers relaxed their weapons did their guide step forward, speaking as fast as his friends had moved.
Again understanding only the man's tone, Bates figured he was explaining to the group what had happened and who Bates' men were. By the still narrowed eyes of the leader, the argument was falling on deaf ears.
Jerking her head at the crossbow-wielding man, the woman brushed him aside and met Bates' stare once more.
A single word left her lips, articulated carefully.
"Horde."
Bates shook his head, pointing to the golden emblem emblazoned on the leather covering his shoulder.
"Alliance. Not Horde, not 'Sha', not 'Mogu'. Alliance!" Bates spoke clearly too, not wanting to have the conversation a third time.
Breaking her stare, the woman grunted to her men, who cleared a path to the village itself. By now, most of the villagers had scurried into their homes, but still looked curiously out at the visitors as they were led past. Into the center of the village they marched, the woman in black still glaring at Bates, before they finally stopped before a strange fountain.
In the center of the bubbling water, another ancient statue stood, this one much more carefully preserved. Carved from a solid piece of jade, a strange serpent was coiled around a globe of onyx, long fangs protruding and smoke flowing out of its nostrils. Its eyes seemed to take in the sight of the strangers as much as the villagers had.
No sooner had they stopped before the statue than a new player entered the silent game, walking out of the largest and most ornate structure they'd seen so far. Woven wooden planks separated in the shadow of the building's porch, the circular frame admitting an old man.
He was larger than the other men they'd seen so far, both in height and weight. All of the natives seemed to be on the overweight side, at least in Bates' opinion, but he couldn't deny the grace and speed the soldiers possessed. This man, though gray with age, radiated that same power.
As soon as the older man stepped into the sunlight, the woman in charge of the soldiers walked quickly to him, bowing respectfully before pointing accusingly at Bates, speaking so rapidly that he couldn't even guess at the words she was using.
Listening wordlessly, the old man nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Bates'. After the woman had finished her tale, he took another few steps closer, until he was at arm's length away from the Marine. Studying him carefully, the old man finally snorted in approval.
Looking over his shoulder, he gave a few short orders, and a small army of attendants brought cushions and umbrellas from their hiding places, soon forming a island of shade in the scorching sun. At Bates order, the other Marines hesitantly took seats on the intricately embroidered pillows, the scent of lavender and other strange herbs heavy on the fine fabric.
Kneeling down on one of the cushions, the old man motioned for Bates to follow suit. Only when he'd done so did he sigh heavily and speak again.
As usual, Bates couldn't even begin to guess at the words themselves, but the man's meaning was clear enough by the tone and obvious context.
'Who are you? Why have you come here?'
Bates thought over his response, conscious of the curious Rogers seated behind him, who was doubtlessly dying to throw her own two cents in. But the old man had addressed Bates, and the Marine did have training in first contact, after all. Naval captains could fake their way through the process of introducing themselves to a new species, but Marines were drilled on it. Bates himself had just recently been the officer on hand to negotiate with the ancient Tol'vir of Uldum about a treaty with the Alliance. They hadn't exactly flown any Alliance banners from their capital afterwards, but Bates hadn't down any worse than the Horde representatives, which was the goal at the end of the day.
Today, however, Bates was in a slightly different situation. There were no translators, no dialogue established, no favors owed. In Uldum, at least, an Alliance operative had helped rescue the king's brother from their ancestral enemies. That alone got them a foot in the door.
Here, he was a complete stranger, and the only word they both understood was, ironically, 'Horde'.
Throwing caution to the wind, Bates spoke in plain Common, hoping his meaning would carry over as easily as the old man's.
'Friends, who are lost.'
'My people tell me you are not Horde.'
'No, not Horde. Enemies of the Horde.'
The man's tone changed now, a deep and pained look coming into his blue eyes. It was as if he had a deep burden he was carrying, but didn't know how to shed it.
"Bates." Rogers whispered, suddenly nudging him with her elbow.
"Captain?" Bates shot a warning glance over his shoulder, not wanting any distractions.
"Look around, Marine. What don't you see?" Rogers asked, waving a hand at the group of curious natives who were starting to reappear.
Bates shrugged, annoyed to the extreme with the woman. "I don't know, I don't see it!"
"Children."
With a single word, all of the Marines jerked with realization. Sure enough, all of the strangers were young adults or older, most much older. There wasn't a single child in the entire village, at least not visible. In their place, more than a few women were wiping at their eyes with silk handkerchiefs, studying the Alliance men and women with almost desperate curiosity.
Not missing a thing, the old man repeated the word exactly.
'Children. Our children... they are gone.'
'Horde? The Horde took them?'
'Please, help us. We cannot fight the Horde!'
Even Rogers understood the old man now, who was nearly sobbing as he spoke. Shaking visibly, he pointed off in the distance, and Bates followed his stare.
Poking above the strange trees, a massive stone tower was visible. Even from where he sat nearly a mile away, he could see the same strange carvings as they'd seen on the road coming in.
'The Horde took your children there?'
'Days ago. Please, can you help us?'
Bates rose to his feet now, looking to the woman who'd disarmed him neutrally. Holding out his hand, he waited until the woman sullenly returned his knife.
'We'll bring your children home; I promise.'
At his words, the old man jumped to his feet and rushed over to Bates, wrapping him in a massive hug before the Marine could protest. Arms locked around his chest, Bates had little choice but to hug the massive man back, carefully sliding the knife back into his sheath.
"Careful, Corporal. That might be a promise you can't keep." Rogers warned, taking a hand from Kitty to rise to her feet.
"Maybe; but I'll be damned if I don't try." Bates shot back, finally breaking free of the bear hug.
"Damn straight."
All eyes turned to see a new group walk into the village, which disturbed the female soldier to no end.
"Sergeant Archer!" Bates saluted quickly, which the other man returned. Surveying the village quickly, Archer could only whistle in surprise.
"Folks, we're not in Goldshire any more. What's the situation, Corporal?"
It took no more than a minute to explain the situation, and Archer nodded in agreement. Turning to the old man, Archer offered a gloved hand and smiled firmly.
"Fighting the Horde is our job, sir. We'll do our best to get your people out."
"Thank you! Thank you all!"
It took a long moment for anyone to realize what they'd heard, and Archer jerked in surprise as he processed it. Whirling around, he caught sight of Maara's mischievous grin. Purple sparks flew from her fingers as she waved to each of the Marines present, focusing carefully as she mouthed the words to a spell.
"Arcane enhanced intellect; one of the side effects is a minor translation spell. It's not perfect, but it should allow basic communication with these people. You're welcome."
Bates sighed inwardly as he glared at the Draenei woman, wishing for the hundredth time they'd been assigned a military Mage instead of a civilian. There were plenty of Humans, Dwarves, or even Gnomes who could have done the job of Maara Taaln easily, and with a lot less attitude. But no; they'd been assigned the exotically beautiful Draenei with a chip on her shoulder.
But that was life in the Stormwind Marines.
"You... can understand me?" The old man asked slowly, obviously not understanding exactly what had happened.
"We can. My name is Sergeant Blake Archer, of the Stormwind Marines. We mean you no harm." Archer's offered hand was taken now, and the old man shook it vigorously.
"Elder Daelo, of the Pandaren. My village is called Paw'don, and we are not a military fortress!" The Elder spoke with conviction now, gripping Archer's hand almost painfully. "We want no part in any wars! We only want our children back..."
Archer gently pulled his hand back, and Daelo remembered he was still holding it in his massive paw. Meeting his stare again, there was a tangible sense of fear in the old man's eyes.
"Elder, I meant what I said. If the Horde have your people, we'll do everything we can to get them back. Where are they being held?"
Again, Daelo pointed to the stone fortress through the trees, a hint of malice in his voice as he spoke. "A nameless, nearly forgotten Mogu fortress on the edge of the forest. It has been abandoned for generations, since the last war. But as soon as these 'Horde' arrived, they split into two groups. Half remained on the shores where their ships landed, but the rest moved into the Mogu's old home. Not long after, monsters fit for nightmares stole into the village while we slept and abducted our children from their beds!"
The woman beside him spoke up now, her voice as harsh as ever.
"We chased them into the Bamboo for hours, but they used foul and strange magics to evade us. All attempts to force our way inside have only resulted in more death. You discovered one of my scouts earlier this morning, who was trying to find some weakness in their defenses."
Cutting off the woman before she could say anything more, Daelo hurriedly apologized. "Please, forgive Snowlily for capturing you! We had no way of knowing if you were friends or foes!"
Bates grinned good naturedly and shrugged, meeting the woman's steely gaze. "I'd have done the same. But I'd still like to get all of my gear back."
Reaching up to her face, she untied the black silk mask from her wide rimmed hat and exposed a strangely beautiful face. Distrustful sneer in place, she tossed a rifle back to the man, and the rest of her team grudgingly returned the rest of the Marines' weapons.
"Next time, you should be more aware of your surroundings, and less aware of your mate's breasts."
Rogers looked up sharply, not knowing who to snap at first. Archer beat her to the punch, resting a hand on Bates' shoulder gently.
"You heard her, Corporal. We'll discuss this later, in depth. For now, I have a favor to ask of you, Elder."
"If you can bring back our children, ask the moon and stars, and we'll pluck them from the sky for you!" Daelo swore, his hands meeting in front of his chest, fist to open palm. The gesture was practiced, and Archer suspected it was their form of a salute.
"Nothing so astronomical. Our people are injured, and our medics are running out of options. Do you have any healers among your people?" Archer asked, looking to the crowd of assembled 'Pandaren'.
"Of course!" Daelo relaxed noticeably, as if relieved Archer hadn't taken him up on his grandiose offer. "It is my people's custom to help those in need. The Horde nearly broke us of that tradition, however..."
"We're not all like them." Archer assured him, standing a little taller as he said it. "Thank you, for your kindness. Corporal?"
Bates could already sense the order coming, and knew immediately he wouldn't be seeing any Mogu fortresses today.
"Organize our people and get them up here, starting with the most critically wounded. Have Ward make the call, and I want your squad escorting them down that trail. No telling when the Horde will make a counterattack. In the meantime, I'll take second squad and scout out the Horde's position."
"My people will join you." Snowlily said firmly, not leaving any room for argument.
Archer nodded, hoping for just that offer. "We'd appreciate the help. And Bates?"
Bates hid the frustrated expression almost perfectly as he turned back to Archer, already running plans and numbers through his tired mind.
"Good work."