Chapter 6
Even in a war that engulfs countless species and takes millions of lives, there are places that remain neutral. Cities where an uneasy truce between the Horde and the Alliance is maintained by the most unlikely of creatures: goblins. The small, green skinned creatures didn't care what race is in their shops. Just that their customers come with money.
After traveling on Aisha for about a day, Private Tyrr Pantherfoot found herself in one such place. "Is this where his scent has led you?" the elf asked her jungle cat.
Aisha purred a response.
Tyrr climbed off her great saber and permitted her to roam the desert in search of prey. "I'll whistle if I need you." The night saber happily padded off in search of juicy elk or meaty raptor. Even an unsuspecting orc or human would make a fine meal for the great cat.
Tyrr turned back to the city. "What will you do once you find him?" she asked herself.
For two days the elf searched the town without luck. Finally,she decided to make her way to thetavern. It was an unspoken law that those who rode beneath the flag of the Alliance sit at one end of the bar and those who mounted for the Horde: the other. The few brave enough could sit in the center, where an orc could drink with a human and a troll could toast with an elf. Tyrr had never been in their ranks. Though she hated to acknowledge it, she had a seething streak of resentment for any other than her own kind; much like her superior. At least, she felt that way until she met the Greywalker. The way he treated her, the way he acted. They wrangled with the beliefs she formely had. He was as smart and cunning as he was strong and powerful: hardly the mindless cow her peers spoke of.
"Hey, sorry, no weapons in here. HE HE," said something at Tyrr's feet. She looked down to see the goblin bouncer of the bar. By genetics night elves were tall and slim. Goblins by contrast were short and scrawny, about the same size as gnomes. So the bouncer barely came up to the elf's thigh. Regardless of the height difference, Tyrr handed him her precious dagger. She'd learned even if she had the edge in strength, speed, and agility, goblins would always have numbers. Sometimes numbers where all that mattered.
Tyrr knew enough about unarmed fighting to feel confident as she took a seat next to an orc. He briefly examined his neighbor and made a grunt before returning to his drink.
"What'll it be toots?" asked the goblin bartender. Then added the typical laugh: "HE HE."A platform around the interior of the bar allowed him to face his sitting customers.
"I'm," Tyrr started, "looking for a tauren, called the Greywalker."
"HE HE. You and every other man or thing on the planet. That dumb cow's hide could set anyone for life. Got to wonder what he did to piss Windrunner off so much."
"I tell you what he did," rumbled the orc in his native tongue. Tyrr cursed silently under her breathe. Elves, secretive and aristocratic by nature, rarely learned any langue other than their own. Tyrr was no exception. She knew enough of the human's langue of commonto get by, but that was it."That damn treacherouscow. Been helping your kind for years. Thrall only knows how many of you elves he's saved."
"That cow has attacked us twice as much as you," shouted a dwarf across the bar. "Laid siege to my whole squad a few years back."
"Your squads slaughter whole village," screamed a younger tauren. "The Greywalker saved my family. He's a hero."
"Shut up you damn cow," shouted the dwarf. Ironically, her spotted white and black fur did make her look like livestock. "You damn cows, murdering us hard working dwarves whenever we try to mine the land."
"You paladins: killing the innocent in the name of the Light," snarled an undead in gutterspeak. The Forsaken's tongue was a langue few knew. Regardless, by now it didn't matter: tempers where flaring.
"Your bitch Queen has destroyed countless villages with her plagues. My children were forced to drink rancid water and eat diseased meat. They died before they were five," cried a human mother. "All of you deserve to die."
"We kill to survive, because you human hunt us down for sport."
"We end your wretched existence so you may find peace," said the paladin defensively.
"No, you kill us because that's what the Light tells you to do."
Tyrr quietly placed a coin on the table and slipped out of the bar, disappointed at the lack of information. Her determination was unfazed though, the Greywalker was somewhere in this city, and she would find him. What she would do when they meet however, she didn'tknow.