Providence

Part One

Chapter Five

Hanzar stopped every few hours to check his bandage and change it if pus formed or the wound looked dirty. At the end of his first day of traveling in the shadows, he stopped in the hills of Loch Modan at a small river he found there and cleaned the rather deep wound. It was hardly grave, though, to the rough troll—he had suffered much worse and been better off for it.

But with most wounds, he associated battle and honor; this small gash, deep and completely painful, was very different. He felt anger and an overwhelming desire for revenge, but hidden was a bead of remorse. He was constantly reminded of the event for every step he took, every movement of his torso was like a knife ripping through his ribs. Hanzar watched the wound heal slowly, more so than any other he had suffered that was much more severe. By the time he wandered into a small Horde outpost and secured a bat flight two weeks later, the flesh had barely begun to regenerate and the skin was patched only around the edges. Hanzar was reminded of thousands of tiny men filling a collapsed mine shaft.

He finally met his friend in the neutral Booty Bay. The tauren looked tired and far more hairy than the last time they met—thinking of it, it had been nearly a month. Winter was setting in, one could see it in the cold, heavy wind coming off the shore. Unless they made it back to the Barrens soon, they would be caught in an Eastern Kingdom winter, which was never pleasant.

When the two friends were sitting on a stack of empty crates on the docks, Hanzar asked, "Have you secured a boat?"

Banik shook his head. "Not yet. Another day before a boat to Ratchet. Have been fighting there and goblins don't want to bother with war. Not when they don't have to." The ox sniffed loudly from the cold. "Hanz, where you been?"

The troll crossed his arms and said nothing. Not wanting to pry Banik leaned forward and sighed. "Should buy warm clothes, no fur," he said. Hanzar looked at him. "Merchants here."

Sure enough, he saw the leatherworking shop busy with life. He could use a good cloak for the time he was here, anyway, so he left the tauren on the dock while he went to shop amongst the throng.

Booty Bay was always an interesting place to be merely because of the overwhelming amount of mixture. Horde and Alliance, shopping, bargaining, trading, all together—it was still edgy, but there was a strange sort of camaraderie about the harbor. An orc could bump into a human at the inn and not cause a scene.

Hanzar managed his way into the busy store, squeezing between a pair of tauren women and stepping over a gnome wearing an overlarge leather tunic before he reached the table. As he perused the cloaks, he heard a squeak and a gasp, and looked up for the source of the sound.

Garoul sat directly in front of him. The wares were obviously hers. Hanzar somehow managed to not climb over the table and kill her right then—instead he stared, eyebrows drawing into an expression of anger and frustration. A goblin sitting beside the elf looked between them and asked in Orcish, "Is there a problem?"

"Oh, no problem," Hanzar replied, never once breaking eye contact with Garoul. "Though there is always the language barrier."

"Of course," the goblin woman replied. "But that's what we're here for. Did you want to buy something?"

The troll, without moving his head, lifted the topmost cloak made of a thick leather with a furry lining. "This one," he said. His elf looked almost terrified.

The goblin hastily began to speak in Common—Hanzar recognized the language—and slowly turning her head to acknowledge her, Garoul replied in turn.

"She says for you, it is fifty silver." His eyebrows lifted at that—half of what the workmanship was worth. She suddenly looked very small, and she refused to keep eye contact, though he did see her looking at the now mostly-healed wound at his side. He still had a rather nasty-looking bandage taped over it. Her lips pressed together apprehensively.

"I'll take it," he said, his voice coming out slightly less hostile than before. The goblin nodded and spoke to Garoul. She stared at him. She then said something else, something rushed, in a lower tone and with her eyes focused on him. The goblin looked confused for a moment, but shrugged her shoulders.

"The elf says she is not sorry, but she wishes to know if you are all right." She eyed the wound, and looked between the troll and the night elf. He narrowed his eyes.

"I have no time for her frivolities." He pulled out the silver and slapped it on the table so loudly that some of the noise in the shop stopped for a moment. Hanzar leaned forward, so much that Garoul tilted back in surprise. "I will get you, soon, you'll see." The goblin hastily repeated the message and the elf's pink skin looked almost white. Maybe it was the light. Snatching the cloak, he turned on his heel and left.

Furious and turning red in the cheeks—from the cold or the anger, he didn't know—Hanzar pulled on the cloak and hunched over even further as he walked. His pace slowed as he went toward the tier, which was empty besides a goblin fishing near the edge. The troll stopped and sat down, hanging his legs over the water, and rubbed his hands together to warm them. He had to admit, somewhere deep down, that she was a rather pretty creature. But why she haunted him, he didn't know—she popped up everywhere unexpected, and was nowhere when he wanted her to be. Then again, Hanzar thought, he was probably the same to her. For once he wondered how afraid of him she was; how she had loathed the kiss, the one she had returned, only to distract him. Fear had always excited him but this one, this slip of a girl, he hadn't wanted her to run away.

He could still feel her soft hips in his hands like it was yesterday.

Hanzar stiffened when he felt hot breath on his neck. Small, warm hands touched his shoulders, and after a brief pause there were lips on his ear and a heartbeat pressed against his rigid back. His mind fought off confusion and when he turned to look, she was there, eyes glowing brightly, cheeks and lips red from the bruising wind. She said something in her own language—he remembered her bell-like voice and as she spoke, it caressed each word carefully and softly. He was so mesmerized that his anger faded to shock when she kissed him. It was so brief the troll wondered if it had really happened—he saw her glance around to see if anyone saw them, and as suddenly as she arrived, she got to her feet and jogged off the way she had come.

Hanzar let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. His side had begun to ache quite sorely but he ignored it in favor of getting to his feet, and walking back to the inn.

--

Garoul knew she would see him again before she departed Booty Bay with Reich for Ashenvale. After her conversation with her friend, her fantasies had taken over her dreams, and she knew if she didn't act she would find no rest from them. She was an easily-stimulated creature and the red-haired, blue-skinned troll pressed every last one of her buttons. That brief moment on the pier had tingled every nerve—she had to leave before she did anything too rash.

She was hardly fit for the name night elf.

Her leather sold well here, with winter beginning to set in. It was long after dark when she returned to the inn and without even looking around, she stumbled tiredly to her bed in the workshop she had taken over for the beginning of the season.

Garoul woke up to snow. She could hear an incredible commotion coming from the common room, and in a gold slip she snuck out of her room and out to the stairs.

All races were assembled there, some arguing, others yelling, some crouched quietly at the bar. The barmaids and wenches were bustling around attempting to calm the crowd, but their success was barred by the shout she heard above them all: a dwarf climbed onto the bar and cried in a deep Scottish accent, "All boats are cancelled until further notice! The damn ocean is freezing over!" A goblin repeated the announcement in Orcish. The noise evaporated for that one brief moment when all heads turned to the windows and the heavy snow falling outside.

"Stay calm," the goblin yelled. "We encourage everyone who is able to leave the harbor by gryphon to Ironforge, where updates will be provided hourly. Enter a queue for a boat and we will notify you when the weather lets up, or you can take the boat from Menethil." A similar message was repeated in Orcish, and Garoul heard "Orgrimmar." The hostile commotion quickly changed to one of haste, with creatures of all shapes and sizes rushing to gather their things and find the bat handler or gryphon master as soon as possible. In a matter of minutes the place had mostly cleared out, with a few drunks passed out at tables and others like herself merely watching with morbid fascination.

Garoul came down the stairs and sat at the bar, not minding her outfit, and was astounded that there were those who drank first thing in the morning. She requested a glass of water and some bread from a goblin before settling in.

Upon taking a sweep of the common room, she saw the familiar pair of a massive, brown tauren and a jewelry-infested blue troll. Taking her food and drink, the elf hopped off the bar stool and walked to the table where the two were talking in hushed tones. They both looked up in surprise when she pulled out the chair and sat down.

The tauren's jaw hung open. He blinked a few times before turning to his friend, who was also staring at Garoul as she began to eat. The ox spoke slowly to Hanzar and he replied without looking away. She glanced up and asked, "What? I can't eat here?" A goblin who had been watching them from the bar walked over to the table. He was a bruiser, Garoul could tell.

"What's going on here?"

Nonchalantly, she replied, "Nothing, obviously. I'm just eating with my friends." The bruiser blinked at her, then turned to the troll and seemed to ask the same question.

They conversed for a moment before the goblin said once more, "I know there is something ridiculous going on here, but unless it turns violent, it's not my problem." He stood up and looked between them. "You can't even speak the same language!"

Garoul shrugged her shoulders. "We live in a world where paid interpreters don't exist," she replied, and the goblin gave her a confused expression. "Looking for a job?"

The bruiser looked around and not seeing any fights, he sat down. Garoul went through her pocket and pulled out a gold piece, putting it on the table and pushing it towards him. With wide eyes he took it and murmured, "I could buy a coat and some nice boots with this."

Thus the conversation began. "I'm paying him for this, so it better be good," Garoul told Hanzar. He scowled.

"What do you expect me to say?" His voice was rough, probably from sleep. Everyone had been awoken rather rudely that morning.

"Nothing. But I want to tell you that I regret what happened." She looked down at her hands. "I panicked."

The troll laughed then, and leaned forward to say in a low, menacing tone, "It seemed pretty planned out to me."

When the tauren spoke, Garoul's interpreter had difficulty translating at first. "Hello," he said. The elf was silent. "I am Banik. I have wanted to ask you what happened to the Corporal."

Everyone at the table went silent for a moment. Slowly, Hanzar removed the insignia from a bag and put it down for her to see. The bruiser was clearly confused by the entire exchange.

"We found him in Darkshore," she began. "He had been poisoned. He was wild and horribly mauled. I would not have been concerned was it not for the fact the poison was most definitely one used by the undead." Garoul clasped her hands together. "He begged, but I saw him killed anyway. I felt sorry for what happened, but I wanted someone to know what had become of him."

"His wench was glad to hear he wasn't prisoner," Hanzar spoke up. "There is much strife among the forces of the Horde," he said. "Those of Kalimdor have long held suspicion of the cursed ones, and hearing of an orc death at the hand of an undead does not surprise me."

"There is always strife among alliances," Garoul replied, "I know of those among the Alliance, as well."

Hanzar cleared his throat. "But more importantly..." He took a look at the bruiser, and spoke his next sentence in Troll: "I want to know what you're doing later this evening." He narrowed his eyes. What sounded like a bad pick-up line came out as almost menacing. He had finally wrapped his head around this girl: he knew what it was she was after. She had been afraid, and she liked it.

The goblin seemed to take the hint and relayed the message to Garoul in somewhat broken Darnassian, and the gnome that had been listening in hastily looked away. The elf's eyes grew wide and Banik looked between them confusedly. The elf and troll locked eyes and Garoul quietly replied, "I'm completely free." She felt almost sorry for the bruiser, who looked thunderstruck. He quickly relayed the message and Garoul had to admire his fluency in all the languages of Azeroth. She had finished her bread, so she turned to the goblin and told him, "Thank you for your time. I think we're through." With that, she stood and left.