Warcraft: Exile
Chapter 3: Haven
Varien opened the book and began to write on the first blank page, 'It is been forty sunrises since we've come to this planet. Houses have windows albeit barred ones, crops are being reaped, people have paired up and are talking about starting families. Somewhere along the way we stopped thinking of this world like a desert island and more like a home. In fact Kurdan convinced us to name this settlement Haven.
'As for our *neighbours*- the Laughing Skull have kept to themselves since the skirmish over Alleria's mortal remains. I try to tell myself they likely took it as a trophy and nothing more, but what I was taught about the Orc warlock Gul'dan makes me fear she was used in some abominable experiment.
'Well we are on our guard; everyone keeps their combat skills sharp. What else can be done? I could grow to love this world, but for that I must always watch my back. Varien Wrynn, Prince of Azeroth, Knight of the Silver Hand.'
Closing the book, Varien hefted his bilateral sword and rose to his feet. For breakfast he cut a piece of cheese made from milk of native animals. Filling, but with a strange taste that lingered and wouldn't go away.
Leaving the fortified Hall Varien observed the night guards coming inward to rest while their relief were heading to the watch posts. Quiet as the Orcs had been nobody was willing to relax with them so close. The mystic sanctum twinkled and glittered with faerie fire, while the workshop buzzed with activity forging and maintaining the rifles and mortar launchers Haven's defence needed. His feet took him to the Barracks, the doors swung open to admit him. On the shooting range he found the warrior he sought.
Dhaine's arrow thudded into he centre of the bull's eye; splitting the arrow he'd hit it with moments before. Lowering the bow, he pulled his undamaged arrows from the target, then sat down to unstring the bow. Prince Wrynn was out of sight but sunlight through an arrow slit left a telltale shadow. The Elf turned to look at his human monarch.
Varien smiled, "I see your arm has got its strength back."
Dhaine nodded, "Not that I've had much use for strength lately."
"What do you mean?"
Dhaine glared at Varien, expecting the meaning to be obvious, "I ran away again. That's all I've done lately, it seems."
Varien sighed, "Dhaine, the dwarfs and footmen were already dead. It was five trolls against two; and you were wounded.
"What kind of soldier am I if all I do is retreat?"
"What kind of soldier would you be if you launched a suicide attack and deprived Haven of one more defender?" Varien put a hand on the Elf's shoulder, "You'll get your chance to hurt them back. But you have to choose your fights carefully. And don't let anger throw you in front of flying Troll hatchets."
Dhaine head lowered, "One of the magi was here. She asked to let you know Rogket wanted to show you something at the farthest cannon tower."
Varien nodded and walked out. Dhaine let his unstrung bow to rest, absently picked an arrow from his quiver and began studying the arrowhead. Something came to him; he got to his feet and left the barracks, toward the workshop.
* * * Varien saluted to the sentinels at the cannon tower and they admitted him. Climbing the rope ladder, he approached Archmage Rogket, "You asked to see me?"
Rogket nodded, "Turn your ear in the direction of the Orc base and listen closely."
Varien did so. After neither of them talking, he began to make out a faint noise, "Screaming or wailing? Are they torturing someone?"
Rogket smiled, "I wouldn't put them above it, but my sensitive hearing tells me different. What you heard was crying- the crying of infants."
"Infants? They're breeding? But I thought their clan only sent-"
"Males? As did I, but I cannot argue with the sounds I have heard. I have considered trying to divine the answers."
"I had some success looking into their home with my Paladin training, but Mogor and the warlocks have been able to block my sight as of late." Varien looked on the horizon, "Right now there's a different question that's taken up much of my thought."
"And that is?"
"I have a hard time believing such a fertile world would have no peoples native to it. I think we should take steps to seek out signs of other races. Possible allies, potential threats, anything of the like."
"Alerting any native cultures to our existence could be dangerous. We already have the Laughing Skull to worry about; it's likely indigenous cultures would see both of us as- infestations.
"We could use astral travel but it could be traced, and there is the risk of attracting otherworldly attention."
"By otherworldly you mean-"
"Demons."
The D-word. Varien remembered having to take up his two-pronged sword against several such horrors, both in Azeroth and Dreanor. He had no desire to encounter any of their ilk again, "So what do we do?"
"For now, we should sit tight. Keep our guard up, but refrain from being aggressive- in conquest or exploration."
Varien let out a sigh of resignation, something that seemed to come easier to him more and more, "Well then, let's hope the Orcs are the only ones we have to worry about."
* * *
"Faster you Maggots! If we spend any more time in this snowdrift than necessary it will melt from the warmth of your blood!" Gorefiend lashed out a blast of negative energy in the air, frightening the necrolytes into scurrying and consequent stumbling. The blackguard's order to move had taken his orcwraiths and warm-blooded servitors through a mountain range that rose a good mile toward the sky. Gorefiend and his Orcwraiths abhorred the snow but wouldn't turn back for fear of being stumbled on by the humans or the horde, and they also detested the necrolytes scooping up as much as they could for water to drink and wash with.
Despite the pain of ethereal bondage, Alleria took a small comfort in the Orcwraiths' misery. Part of her wondered if their loathing of the snow had less to do with comfort than fear of their undead bodies rotting from exposure to water. Unlikely, she had seen beings like them in the rain without being perturbed; except in those instances she had killed the abominations before there was time to learn if it would have any bearing.
Kraugg approached from far off, having news of what lay ahead, "The path takes us between two peaks. There are caves. Lots of caves."
"Well whatever lives in them, if anything, had best stay inside until we're gone," Gorefiend snarled at the necrolytes, "I said pick up your asses, not stumble on them!" Another burst of negative energy tore into the thin air.
For all the necrolytes' stumbling and the Orcwraith's grumbling, Gorefiend's army reached the two peaks soon enough. Cave entrances dotted the rock like holes in smelly dwarf-made cheese; on closer view they had furs covering their entrances-, which meant they were home to more than just animals.
One of the natives showed himself. A furred humanoid, his feet were hooves; his brow bore curved horns and his face distinctly ovine. He was naked except for a belt from which a stone hammer dangled. Gorefiend and Kraugg showed visible discomfort at the sight of the sheep-man's phallus pointing straight at them as if in challenge.
"Go back in your hole, beast. We are only passing through." Gorefiend's mace pulsed.
The ram-creature's response echoed across the range, at first Alleria thought the braying was directed at Gorefiend, but instead it called more sheep-men out of their homes. All of these creatures carried at least one crude weapon, and their faces stated plainly that the Orcwraiths were not welcome.
Alleria winced at Gorefiend's phlegmy laugh; he was going to enjoy killing these creatures, as well as forcing her to aid in the slaughter.
Chapter 3: Haven
Varien opened the book and began to write on the first blank page, 'It is been forty sunrises since we've come to this planet. Houses have windows albeit barred ones, crops are being reaped, people have paired up and are talking about starting families. Somewhere along the way we stopped thinking of this world like a desert island and more like a home. In fact Kurdan convinced us to name this settlement Haven.
'As for our *neighbours*- the Laughing Skull have kept to themselves since the skirmish over Alleria's mortal remains. I try to tell myself they likely took it as a trophy and nothing more, but what I was taught about the Orc warlock Gul'dan makes me fear she was used in some abominable experiment.
'Well we are on our guard; everyone keeps their combat skills sharp. What else can be done? I could grow to love this world, but for that I must always watch my back. Varien Wrynn, Prince of Azeroth, Knight of the Silver Hand.'
Closing the book, Varien hefted his bilateral sword and rose to his feet. For breakfast he cut a piece of cheese made from milk of native animals. Filling, but with a strange taste that lingered and wouldn't go away.
Leaving the fortified Hall Varien observed the night guards coming inward to rest while their relief were heading to the watch posts. Quiet as the Orcs had been nobody was willing to relax with them so close. The mystic sanctum twinkled and glittered with faerie fire, while the workshop buzzed with activity forging and maintaining the rifles and mortar launchers Haven's defence needed. His feet took him to the Barracks, the doors swung open to admit him. On the shooting range he found the warrior he sought.
Dhaine's arrow thudded into he centre of the bull's eye; splitting the arrow he'd hit it with moments before. Lowering the bow, he pulled his undamaged arrows from the target, then sat down to unstring the bow. Prince Wrynn was out of sight but sunlight through an arrow slit left a telltale shadow. The Elf turned to look at his human monarch.
Varien smiled, "I see your arm has got its strength back."
Dhaine nodded, "Not that I've had much use for strength lately."
"What do you mean?"
Dhaine glared at Varien, expecting the meaning to be obvious, "I ran away again. That's all I've done lately, it seems."
Varien sighed, "Dhaine, the dwarfs and footmen were already dead. It was five trolls against two; and you were wounded.
"What kind of soldier am I if all I do is retreat?"
"What kind of soldier would you be if you launched a suicide attack and deprived Haven of one more defender?" Varien put a hand on the Elf's shoulder, "You'll get your chance to hurt them back. But you have to choose your fights carefully. And don't let anger throw you in front of flying Troll hatchets."
Dhaine head lowered, "One of the magi was here. She asked to let you know Rogket wanted to show you something at the farthest cannon tower."
Varien nodded and walked out. Dhaine let his unstrung bow to rest, absently picked an arrow from his quiver and began studying the arrowhead. Something came to him; he got to his feet and left the barracks, toward the workshop.
* * * Varien saluted to the sentinels at the cannon tower and they admitted him. Climbing the rope ladder, he approached Archmage Rogket, "You asked to see me?"
Rogket nodded, "Turn your ear in the direction of the Orc base and listen closely."
Varien did so. After neither of them talking, he began to make out a faint noise, "Screaming or wailing? Are they torturing someone?"
Rogket smiled, "I wouldn't put them above it, but my sensitive hearing tells me different. What you heard was crying- the crying of infants."
"Infants? They're breeding? But I thought their clan only sent-"
"Males? As did I, but I cannot argue with the sounds I have heard. I have considered trying to divine the answers."
"I had some success looking into their home with my Paladin training, but Mogor and the warlocks have been able to block my sight as of late." Varien looked on the horizon, "Right now there's a different question that's taken up much of my thought."
"And that is?"
"I have a hard time believing such a fertile world would have no peoples native to it. I think we should take steps to seek out signs of other races. Possible allies, potential threats, anything of the like."
"Alerting any native cultures to our existence could be dangerous. We already have the Laughing Skull to worry about; it's likely indigenous cultures would see both of us as- infestations.
"We could use astral travel but it could be traced, and there is the risk of attracting otherworldly attention."
"By otherworldly you mean-"
"Demons."
The D-word. Varien remembered having to take up his two-pronged sword against several such horrors, both in Azeroth and Dreanor. He had no desire to encounter any of their ilk again, "So what do we do?"
"For now, we should sit tight. Keep our guard up, but refrain from being aggressive- in conquest or exploration."
Varien let out a sigh of resignation, something that seemed to come easier to him more and more, "Well then, let's hope the Orcs are the only ones we have to worry about."
* * *
"Faster you Maggots! If we spend any more time in this snowdrift than necessary it will melt from the warmth of your blood!" Gorefiend lashed out a blast of negative energy in the air, frightening the necrolytes into scurrying and consequent stumbling. The blackguard's order to move had taken his orcwraiths and warm-blooded servitors through a mountain range that rose a good mile toward the sky. Gorefiend and his Orcwraiths abhorred the snow but wouldn't turn back for fear of being stumbled on by the humans or the horde, and they also detested the necrolytes scooping up as much as they could for water to drink and wash with.
Despite the pain of ethereal bondage, Alleria took a small comfort in the Orcwraiths' misery. Part of her wondered if their loathing of the snow had less to do with comfort than fear of their undead bodies rotting from exposure to water. Unlikely, she had seen beings like them in the rain without being perturbed; except in those instances she had killed the abominations before there was time to learn if it would have any bearing.
Kraugg approached from far off, having news of what lay ahead, "The path takes us between two peaks. There are caves. Lots of caves."
"Well whatever lives in them, if anything, had best stay inside until we're gone," Gorefiend snarled at the necrolytes, "I said pick up your asses, not stumble on them!" Another burst of negative energy tore into the thin air.
For all the necrolytes' stumbling and the Orcwraith's grumbling, Gorefiend's army reached the two peaks soon enough. Cave entrances dotted the rock like holes in smelly dwarf-made cheese; on closer view they had furs covering their entrances-, which meant they were home to more than just animals.
One of the natives showed himself. A furred humanoid, his feet were hooves; his brow bore curved horns and his face distinctly ovine. He was naked except for a belt from which a stone hammer dangled. Gorefiend and Kraugg showed visible discomfort at the sight of the sheep-man's phallus pointing straight at them as if in challenge.
"Go back in your hole, beast. We are only passing through." Gorefiend's mace pulsed.
The ram-creature's response echoed across the range, at first Alleria thought the braying was directed at Gorefiend, but instead it called more sheep-men out of their homes. All of these creatures carried at least one crude weapon, and their faces stated plainly that the Orcwraiths were not welcome.
Alleria winced at Gorefiend's phlegmy laugh; he was going to enjoy killing these creatures, as well as forcing her to aid in the slaughter.
