Tired. Thank you for the reviews. Just have to post this beforeI fall asleep. Goodnight.
Chapter 10
"What are you doing here?" Private Tyrr shouted. She pushed and shoved her way through the small armada of human soldiers that were nervously surrounding the unconscious tauren to reach Marcus Goodhand. "What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded again. The human's hand abruptly struck Tyrr's stomach, winding her severally. The paladin then clutched the elf's long black hair and twisted her arm behind her back. He dragged her through the goblin town until they were both in a large building that served as an Alliance embassy.
"You will stand at salute when in the presence of your better," Goodhand shouted at the elf, who was still on the ground gasping for air. "Further, what happened to your uniform?"
Tyrr had exchanged her heavy leather pants and chest plates for a simple pair of leather pants and a sleeveless cloth shirt. Her black hair was no longer tied up tightly; instead it hung loosely on her shoulder and past her waist. Boots had been replaced with a pair of soft slippers and she didn't bother to have gloves. The only trace of her Alliance position was the army issue dagger she wore loosely at her hips.
Tyrr swallowed down the bile that was clawing up her throat and spoke with her most submissive voice. "Your sudden presence here surprised me, sir, please excuse my actions."
"I suspected you may have a lead on the Greywalker, so I sent one of my men follow you, elf. I'm sure that you merely forget to send your report."
"Yes sir. I'm sorry sir. I simply wanted to be sure of my findings, so the Alliance wouldn't have to send a soldier of your caliber for nothing."
Goodhand circled the elf, who was still forced to stand at salute. As his glaring eyes met hers, she wondered if he was actually vain enough that he didn't notice her sarcasm.
"Sir. What will you do now that the Greywalker is in custody, sir?" she asked tenderly.
"I will interrogate him, and then he will be executed."
"You can't!"
The sudden outburst surprised the human as much as the speaker. "And why not, elf?" Goodhand demanded in his usual degrading tone.
Tyrr was about to answer, when her voice caught in her throat. She groped for a response. Why did she care if some nameless tauren was executed? Because he saved her? Why should she care? "Um, sir, I believe it would be unethical to execute a prisoner. Especially since the Greywalker is not apart of the Horde's forces. According to the conference of Ironforge, he would technically be considered a civilian."
"It's not a prisoner or a civilian, private. It is merely an animal that must be put down." He quickly added as an after thought: "For the safety of all the Alliance."
"But…"
"Private!"
"Of course sir," Tyrr said sheepishly, slouching so that her superiority in height was not as substantial.
"After all: all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."
"You're right sir," the elf whimpered. "We all must do what we must."
Tyrr walked out of the embassy, and then ran out of the town. No one stopped her. No-one cared. Finally, when the cobble-stone ground gave way to sand and she entered the sanctuary of the desert, she stopped. "Why!" she screamed, beating the ground. "Why do i care about him?" Something silent stalked behind her. She turned hatefully, her dagger out in front of her. She wanted so bad to kill something. "Aisha," she smiled, letting tears wet her eyes. The night-saber padded forward to lick her neck and nose ever so tenderly, and the elf buried her face into the warm fluffy fur. The night saber slowly settled to the ground and the elf moved closer to her warm belly. The bright savage sun was slowly disappearing from the sky and with it the heat it brought. Already a chill was settling down the elf's back. "I have to do something Aisha," Tyrr gulped. "It will make both of us targets of the Alliance, but its something I must do." The great jungle cat purred, as if she understood. Perhaps she did, Tyrr knew that animals were more intelligent than most beings believed. The elf snuggled closer to the cat's fur.She didn't speak, only mouthed the words,"Thank you," under her breathe.
Deep in the desert, later that night:
Tyrr pulled the elastic wire of her bow to her nipple as she took careful aim for the one of the humans. These men were guarding the outer walls of the prison were the Greywalker was being held. She'd have to slay these two sentries quickly and silently if she hoped to procced further. But then something hit her, harder than Goodhand ever could. "Why am I doing this," she asked herself. She was hiding amongst the low brush of the desert called the Barrens. It was night, so she doubted her targets could see her in a passing glance. She could see them however; a trait of her nocturnal race was vision so long as there was moon light. "Why do I care if some nameless tauren dies? Why! He's an animal, no better than the cattle we slaughter for meat." She lowered her bow and took a deep breathe, settling onto her rump. "Why do I feel this way?" she asked the voiceless sands. "I can't," she swallowed, "love him. I can't feel anything for him. It goes against everything I have been taught." She brushed the ebony hair from her face and lifted the bow again. "Why am I doing this?" she whimpered. "Why do I feel this way?"
All of her life she'd been taught the Horde were godless monster, and the Alliance were crusader of the just. Life was so simple then, so many things for her to kill. But something changed after she met the Greywalker. She dove back into her memories with new eyes. She herself had committed the very acts she condemned the orcs and the trolls for. She'd taken part in the massacre of whole villages, believing those she killed beneath her. She'd executed prisoners with a smile on her face and a song in her heart, always using the excuse they'd do the same to her.How could she be so foolish?
The night elf's sharp eyes noticed a shapeless form behind one of the guards. Two gleaming, glistening blades emerged from the shadows, theweilder could not yet be seen.Both humans were oblivious until a sword neatly sliced a sentry's head from his body. The other guard gasped. Quickly,a shadowdove onto him, jamming both swords through his chest. The shadow rebounded off his chest, flipping in the air and landing gracefully on the ground. The human stumbled back, amazingly alive given the metal that was peircing his chest. The shadow quickly pulled a small shining knife and threw it into the human's skull, ending his life.
Free of hostiles, the stealthy creature stepped out of the shadows, giving Tyrr a better look. He was of average height for a troll, with navy blue skin and braided red hair. Other than the twin blades, he carried a long staff, bow, and quiver on his back and several smaller knives on his belt. He carelesslypulled both blades from the corpse and cleanedthem on his pant legs. The humans he'd just killed where merely sentries that guarded the prison's outer walls. The troll was no doubt working his way through the outside before assaulting the jail itself.
Again, the night elf's keen eyes noticed something that hid in the darkness. Another shadow of a form crept behind the ignorant troll, a dagger glistening in the moon's light. Tyrr could easily let the rogues fight, then kill the survivor, but something deep in her mind told her to save the troll. She cursed her own sympathies as she took aim and released an arrow. The bolt spun silently through the air, finding it's place in the human's neck. The troll finally realized the threat and spun swinging. A spray of blood covered his blue skin. The human's head fell limp on his shoulders, only connected by a thin peice of skin on the back of his neck.
The troll noticed Tyrr, who had relinquished her cover to take the shot. He ran with such speed, bounding from side to side, that elf couldn't get a clear shot. Before she knew it, therogue was upon her. He kicked her to the ground and put both blades to her throat. Tyrr extended an open palm to the troll's chest and released a blast of nature's power. The force knocked him back and gave the elf room to roll to her feet. She pulled a fresh arrow from her quiver and took aim where the troll had fallen. To her distaste, he had already recover and held his own bow: an arrow aimed nefariously at her heart.
They stood like that, locked in a stall mate for several agonizing minutes. Tyrr's arm began to quake from the strain of keeping the bow loaded. The troll's finally toned limbs were beginning to show stress as well. Before either's fingers could slip, a ball of pail blue light formed between the two archers and took the shape of a night elf. Tyrr dropped her bow in surprise.
"Were da 'ell have you been?" the troll demanded, speaking in flawed Common.
"Mom?" Tyrr gasped. The spirit elf slowly approached her daughter. A translucent, icy blue hand stroked the living elf's lavender skin.
"Hello my child. It's been a long time."
"Mom," Tyrr sobbed. She wrapped her arms around the ghost's neck and embrace the ectoplasm skin. A cold sensation filled her body, but she didn't care. "I thought you were dead."
"I am dead," Mab said solemnly, hugging her daughter back. It took concentration, but she was able to run her fingers gently through her child's hair.
"Ya, perhaps ye didn't notice da healthy blue glow," the troll chuckled.
Tyrr ignored the remark. "How?"
"The shaman," said the mother smiled. "Taff sustains me in this realm."
"Who is Taff?"
"Da Greywalker ye came here ta kill. Cashing in on da bounty?"
"No, I came here...I came here to repay a debt," she said, trying to convince the troll as much as herself.
"Join da club, we got tabards. But I don't need ya here mon. I can save Taff on me own."
Tyrr cringed in anger. Insulent little blue skinned freak, she thought. "If not for me, troll, that human would've mounted your head on a wall. I don't think I need you."
He smiled at the comeback, and that put Tyrr off guard. Slowly, he stalked infront of her, looking deep into her eyes. It was at this moment she relized he was slightly taller. "Do ye even have da guts to kill one of ye own?"
"I killed the human," Tyrr growled.
"Yes, ye killed a human. La di fuckin da. Can ye kill an elf? Can ye look into da colorless eyes of one of ye own and take their life? Can ye live wit yourself after dat? Its not as easy as ye may think."
"Aloos, enough," the spirit elf said. "Tyrr, my daughter. I betrayed the Alliance, my comrades, for Taff. I have had to live with that everyday, even in death. It not something you should too."
"Besides, da humans will be gunning for ye same as Taff and I if ye do this. You'll be hunted down like ye are on the Horde. Sure ye can handle dat?"
"Yes," Tyrr quaked, though she wasn't sure the reason. Why did she want to be with the Greywalker so bad? Why was she willing to turn her back on her life just to see him again?
"Well den," the troll said. "Let's get started."
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Aloos didn't like how the plan had evolved. Originally, he simply intended to sneak into the jail, free his friend, and then the two could proceed to lay siege to any humans they found. But then he found Tyrr, and Mab came up with an idea. The interior walls, just outside of the prison itself, were crawling with humans: travelers, soldiers, and merchants. Even Aloos had to admit that sneaking through such a heavily populated area would be difficult. Instead, Mab had the idea to simply walk through the gates.
"Stop," said one of the sentries guarding the door into the prison tower itself.
"What is your business?" demanded the other soldier, trying his level best to seem intimidating even though the elf was a foot taller and as a result: looking down on him.
"Well, when traveling on the Barrens, I managed to capture this troll," she said, gesturing to Aloos, who had a noose around his neck and his hands tied behind his back. "I thought it best to bring him here for interrogation and execution."
One guard moved forward to examine Aloos. He cirled, andkicked the back of one of the troll's legs, sending him to the ground. "Great catch," said the human, pulling Aloos's head back by his hair and pushing a blade to his throat. "Oh I'll enjoy killing you mon, once you tell us all your little secrets." The guard snickered and pushed a boot into the troll's back. He forced Aloos's face into the sand. Tyrr bit her lip, struggling not to show any compassion. Again, why did she care if the troll was tortured? She'd done much worse. "Alright elf, take the prisoner inside and down to the dungeon. Captain Goodhand should be done with the tauren we captured."
"Thank you gentlemen," Tyrr said, pulling the rope to force Aloos to follow.
"Wait," one of the guards said suddenly. Tyrr froze, her heart pounding so loud she thought it'd burst through her ribs. The guard walked forward and drew his dagger. "I heard if you cut off a troll's limb it'll grow back. Always wanted to know if that was true."
Tyrr slowly reached for her dagger, but a look from Aloos stopped her. He shook his head so slightly, and his eyes said what his voice could not. She forced shaking hands into her pockets as she bit her lip so hard she thought she'd taste blood. The guard stroked Aloos's neck with the knife, slowly moving it from side to side. Then, suddenly, with a flick of the wrist, he cut off the troll's ear. Hot, sticky black blood began to ooze out of the open wound. The shock and sudden pain caused Aloos to fall to his knees and cover his wound defensivly. The guard laughed as he kicked the troll's chest, winding him. Tyrr rubbed her own gut in empathy.
The sadistic guard plucked the bloodied ear off the ground and spoke into it mockingnly. "Will that grow back?" he asked, and a roar of laughter filled the camp. Tyrr forced herself to chuckle as not to seem suspicious. "Alright," said the second sentry."Get him down to the dungeon."
In the spiral stairwell to the dungeon, Tyrr undid the bindings and returned Aloos's swords. "Are, are you alright?" she asked.
The troll rubbed the wound. "It'll grow back." He carefully examined his swords, as if being in the possession of the elf had changed them. "I owe Taff in a way ye can't imagine mon. I'll do anything to save him." He rested a blade at Tyrr's neck. "Dat includes killing some little bitch elf. Make no mistake."
"I won't," she said, sheathing her dagger in favor of her bow. The outside of the tower was crawling with human guards, so they elected the fake prisoner routine. Now, inside the heavy stone and sound proofed walls, deception wasn't important. Guards, if any, would be scattered. All they'd have to do is find the Greywalker.