Chapter 9: Intertwined Destinies
George's hideout was… messy. Or so Laiken thought, anyway. From the entrance there was a haphazard disguise to keep away prying eyes that covered most of the sunlight (which in Ashenvale is very scarce due to the trees covering the sky). Laiken had been led to believe the hideout was… reasonably comfortable. He wasn't even told of a hideout or a hideaway when George and Krug dragged him into this strange place, he was just dragged along.
"Perhaps some tea? Or is it too early… I wonder…" said George, examining his stash of tea leaves that were neatly put alongside his bookshelf.
Krug tried reading the titles on said books, but to no avail. George approached his kettle, removed his blackish purple waistcoat, and ignited it with a match. Laiken, noticing this act, smirked.
"Can't you spellcasters command fire?"
George gave out a shrill laugh.
"We can, but when it comes to being safe, in my home, well I'd prefer to strike a match. No need to needlessly risk burning us all down in flame is there?" he quipped.
"I suppose not, then" Laiken murmured, looking at some of the portraits hung on the walls of the place.
George was in the middle of writing down something when he heard the kettle whistle. He quickly walked over to it and removed it from the flame, carefully placing it on a covered table.
"Tea anyone?" George asked, pouring himself a small glass.
"I sure will" Laiken said, pouring himself an equally small glass.
Krug looked at George, then at Laiken.
"Sure, I guess", he shrugged.
Krug began to pour the tea in a glass, before stopping.
"Is that enough? I don't want to take too much" Krug nervously stated.
"That's what it is there for, my orcish friend" said George, resuming writing his notes.
Laiken broke the brief silence by slurping on his tea by accident. George emitted a small chuckle before looking up.
"Who raised you, halfling?" George laughed.
"My adoptive parents. Why? I thought you knew this" he said.
"I am a human of genius intellect, but not even I can figure out which part of your parentage raised you" he was now completely focused on Laiken.
"I was raised in an orphanage. I had adoptive parents, but really I raised myself… it was a multiracial city off the northern coasts of this continent. I had visits from my father's best friend, though" Laiken let his voice sink to a quiet volume.
"And is your father or mother human?"
"My father… he was killed by an assassin, because of the nature of my birth, I was told. I was brought to live with my godparents by a trainee of his, Lucien" Laiken explained.
"Lucien? As in Lucien Hartshire?" George's voice went from sarcastic to curious.
"How do you know that name?" Laiken peered over at George suspiciously.
"He is… something of a friend. Good man he is… I haven't spoke with him in years, though. I didn't know he was your father's friend. Do you happen to know your biological father's name, boy?" George was now standing.
"I do. His name was Varkaan Kesh. He was a paladin – apparently a fairly reputable one, too" Laiken quickly replied.
"Varkaan Kesh? Your father is Varkaan Kesh? That is… that is unexpected… it would make sense, though. You look like him. Almost. A little bit. Tell me, then, were you told of your mother? Did she have any role in any of this?" George's eyes were wide, staring at Laiken with disbelief.
"I know only her first name. I wasn't told much – if anything – else. Her name is Hargu. From what I was told by my godmother before I left home" – Laiken was cut off by an obvious gasp from Krug, the first noise he'd made in a while.
"Hargu Tearshorn! I knew I recognized your last name! Yes, of course! It all makes sense now… wait… you still owe me for saving your skin back in Ratchet… and my pipe!" Krug laughed.
"You know of my mother, Krug?" Laiken almost yelled.
"I know of her. I can't say I personally know her. But I've seen her a few times, when I was an apprentice of engineering back in Orgrimmar. This was years ago, though… but you're what? 18? 19? I think she's still kickin'. It was only about 11 years ago I was there, so she very well might still be alive", Krug scratched his head.
George's almost ominous laughter was heard from his desk now. Laiken and Krug both looked at him.
"Droll. Very, very droll. This whole… predicament is so droll it makes me want to continue helping you on your quest. It would appear by recent revelations that both parties involved, young Laiken, both know your parents. I want to see where this whole adventure will take us now", George laughed, dousing the fire from the cooking pit and opening an armoire.
"Where will we go, then? How?" Laiken was confused.
"We will go to wherever it is we think your mother is, Laiken!" George said, putting on a waistcoat that had a hood attached.
"Do you expect me to know that?" Krug interjected.
"I expect you to have some form of idea that can lead us to her" George chuckled, strapping his stave to his back.
"And when do I have a say in this? Did I ever have a say in it?" Laiken began to think back to Ratchet.
"Nope, not very much. You've been swept around more than a wrench in my workshop" Krug added.
George, now fully dressed in blackish purple cloth that seemed to emanate a hue of purple mist, stood near the entrance to his hovel.
"Do you have any idea of how long it takes to walk to the Barrens?" Krug begrudgingly said.
"Yes, from here it will be about 4 to 6 days. Depending on any… difficulties we run into. If we run into any – which is why I am going to pack bread and water for this journey. Gentlemen, if you have any bladed weapons, or can find any around here that don't glow, I recommend you take them. We'll be needing them if we're going to survive on items other than bread" George said busying himself to pack provisions.
Laiken, concerned, but more confused, searched randomly for a dagger or a knife, or even a short sword. He found one that looked relatively normal, one that didn't glow, like George had instructed - it was strapped to an old, dusty trophy case. He swiftly put the scabbard on his belt and went to grab the sword hilt. As he grasped the hilt, he felt an odd, almost magical (if he could describe what that felt like) sensation weigh down his hand, scoffing it off, he sheathed it, and began to remove the cover for the entrance to the hovel, shortly followed by Krug.
"Four to six days of walking and possibly hunting. Won't this be the adventure?" Krug grumbled.
"You detest labor? How odd, especially for an engineer" George remarked, passing two satchels heavy with wrapped bread and a canteen of water to each of them.
"No, not labor. I don't like walking around in a warzone between night elves and orcs. We could be captured by either side, you know, and if we are, one of the sides captured won't be happy with the result of their capture" Krug swung the satchel on his back, and from there strapped the canteen onto it.
"A warzone?" Laiken's ears perked at that word.
"That is why, dear Krug, it will take four to six days. We're taking the stealthy route" – he examined Laiken and Krug – "you two are rather sparsely attired, aren't you?"
Krug and Laiken looked at each other slowly, examining the tattered items of 'clothing' they had on their bodies.
"Well, we did flee from being captured by goblins – where did you get that waistcoat you were wearing when we came in here?" Laiken asked.
Laiken felt a strange pulse of energy course through his body. He shook a bit from it, but refocused his efforts on George.
"Never mind that. I acquired it from where they were attempting to destroy it when I went back to get that little bastard Kraven. Look in my armoire, you'll find something that fits and suits you in there, I'm sure" George offered, putting the finishing touches on moving the cover from the entrance.
"How do you know it'll fit us? We are both… well orcish" Laiken shot back as he rummaged through the armoire with Krug.
George looked at the two, laughing.
"I'm sure it will – after all, most of it is mageweave", George laughed, walking from his hovel and into the fresh air.
"Such a bad joke" Krug said to himself.
