Chapter 11: The Engineer
In the rainy, dreary and generally unpleasant marshes of Dustwallow, disgraced General Ike Ironheart slowly rode his steed. The horse whined at every stray twig that it accidentally stepped upon without prior notice – and almost every time the whine emitted from the steed's mouth did a similar, yet more disgusting sound, emit from the general atop the steed. It was a sound of... not plain disgust, but rather of disgusted disappointment.
All of his possessions were currently back in Stormwind, the very city the once venerated general had called home. This steed he currently rode upon could barely be called a steed, in his opinion of course. The thing was hardly ready for the harsh lands of Dustwallow Marsh, and yet the stablekeeper who had rented it to him assured him that the steed wouldn't scare easy.
With all of this in mind, Ike slowly rode north up a barely beaten path, the horse's clomping occasionally replaced with a splash or a squish. He grumbled to himself, looking around him, over both of his shoulders, and finally behind him. It wasn't until he reared his head around again that he realized that through the fog, he saw a dimly illuminated lantern at a fork in the road.
"And just what do we have here?" Ike whispered to himself.
He kicked at the steed as to hurry its pace. The steed responded in suit, not before it cried at the fear of forgetting it had a rider saddled upon its back, and quickly hastened its pace to meet it's master's demands.
The lantern came upon them quicker than Ike had anticipated. He fumbled around his belt for his sword hilt as the horse came to a slow stop. Cautiously, he dismounted, and equally as cautiously, he drew his blade from the scabbard. There was something about this lantern – something off. Nothing would indicate that there was anything wrong in the immediate area, however, Ike's instincts were screaming to be on guard. He scanned the area with fervor, taking in all the details before finally approaching the lantern.
He reached his fingerless-gloved hand out to feel the lantern. Cold black steel, warming slightly toward the top, met his reach. Not anything extraordinary, especially not unusual. So why did he find the entire thing strange? He looked to the sky, hoping for some kind of answer. In a sense, he found it, discovering nightfall hadn't even begun to occur yet. Even through the thick fog and dense forestry, he could see the sky, which, while a combination of purple-orange indicating the setting sun, certainly didn't justify lighting a lantern.
"Maybe it's the fog?" he murmured to himself circling the lone light source.
Then, as if from nowhere, it was there. He looked slightly to the right of the lantern itself, back toward the path he and his steed had ridden up. There were footprints. Both belonging to him and his horse, but there were also another set. Big, ugly things they were – almost certainly belonging to an orc. Or maybe a troll. In the growing darkness, it was hard for Ike to ascertain.
However, as Ike soon came to realize, the orcish (possibly troll maybe), footprints weren't static. They were... appearing. Somewhat rapidly. They circled around the area of the lantern as Ike subtly looked on, trying not to give away that he was aware of a cloaked saboteur. He swung around, raising his blade to a combative stance. He was ready. He cleared his throat, giving up all pretenses of not-knowing of the stealthy person's movements.
"Your footprints give you away, mongrel. Show yourself!" he demanded.
There was silence for a brief moment after he spoke. Shortly after, he heard a twig snap, and then a sloppy foot enter the murky-swampy terrain off the road.
Taking no quarter from this mysterious presence, Ike followed the sound with a dash of his feet. He would find this person. He followed quickly, listening intently with every stop in his footing for the sounds of a rogue caught in his own game scurrying away. Except he wouldn't let him scurry for long. He nearly leaped at a shadow and miraculously crashed into the stealthed figure. It let out a grunt before it's cloak fell away, revealing a dark-green skinned orc, skulking about with a dagger in his left hand.
Ike was, by all accounts, an older man. Not an old man, but an older one. He still had some fight in him, and to his surprise, a hell of a lot more fight in him than the orc stalking him had. He tackled the orc with his full weight behind his thrust, taking the wayward escapee down to the moist ground. This orc was quick, however, and rolled from under Ike's tackle, swiftly coming to his feet and readying himself for battle – drawing a second dagger from its scabbard. It growled a low growl, almost under its breath. Ike quickly rose to his feet and attempted to brush off the mud from his shoulderplates. He met the orc's glance with a fierce look of fury.
"So it's a fight you want, then, hmm?" he mused, chuckling slightly.
"You... won't... win" the orc staggered out, his very broken Common coming to light as he slowly finished talking.
Ike prepared to say something, some insulting thing toward the orc, however, the roguish fiend threw a glass bottle toward his own feet, a plume of thick smoke shrouding him. Ike charged through the smoke and grappled the orc by the neck, squeezing with all his might.
"You know for someone who can turn almost invisible, you are really bad at it", Ike taunted, readying his blade for a stab.
The orc, however, was prepared for this and slashed wildly at Ike's midsection, cutting the battered Stormwind tabard that adorned his chest. Ike's hand that had gripped the orc's throat quickly grabbed the orc's other stabbing arm mid-swing, catching him by the wrist. The orc's puzzled look indicated to Ike that he was expecting someone a lot weaker or at least not as physically capable as he. Seizing this moment of surprise, Ike quickly drew his dagger from his belt and dug it deep into the orc's shoulder, penetrating the leather armor and causing him to cry out in pain and wade backwards, almost drunkenly. Hoping to incapacitate him instead of murder him, Ike kicked at the orc's chest, causing him to tumble down to the ground, his hand clutching his bleeding shoulder. The orc dropped his weapons, however, Ike was smarter than that and stomped violently on the rogue's poison stash, or at least, what he thought was. Putting his plated boot foot to the orc's barely visible throat and pressing down decently hard, he leaned in.
"So, you were saying something about 'I can't win'?" he sneered.
The orc grunted, still cradling his bleeding shoulder. He stared at Ike for a moment before squirming. Ike, as a result, pressed down harder.
"I'll crush your ugly throat if you don't stop squirming!" he spat at the orc.
"S-stop!" the orc finally managed to choke out.
"Now there we go, a yield" - Ike tentatively removed his foot before kneeling beside the orc - "now please tell me why you thought it a good idea to attack a general of the Stormwind Royal Army? Have you no intelligence whatsoever? I have decorated shoulderplates and a tabard carrying the seal of the Alliance, who did you think I was?" he was almost shouting at this point.
The orc continued to struggle, and violently at that. Ike sighed, looking down at his belt. He once again drew his dagger. As the blade made it's way from the sheath, the orc's eyes widened at the sight of his own blood on the blade.
"I am going to be very clear here" Ike started, glaring directly into the orc's eyes as he did.
"P-please, no kill!" the orc pleaded with sincerity.
Ike, fed up with this foul beast, kicked him in the side, probably close to the liver or kidney, causing the orc to cry out in pain. Ike rolled his eyes, meeting the orc's now-terrified gaze with his own gaze of pure hatred.
"I can't stand the sight of any of you... orcs. You're lucky I've spared you this far, and if you play your cards right, I might even let you live. But why were waiting in ambush for me? Who hired you?!" Ike was now shouting in the evening bog.
The orc choked up before catching his breath. His eyes kept darting around the area, refusing to meet the unabated gaze of Ike's fury. He was terrified.
"P-please... I am h-hungry" he coughed up.
Ike snorted with laughter, looking down at the orc.
"Hungry? You're hungry? And yet you can afford all of these alchemical reagents to perform your shadow-craft? Somehow, I don't believe that. I hardly have anything on my steed besides basic foodstuffs and rations anyway, so you couldn't have attacked me because I was carrying excess food. What do I look like to you in this heavy plate armor? A caravan? You've got some nerve to attack me, you demonic-spawn filth", Ike seethed through gritted teeth.
Ike ran back to his steed, who had walked off a bit from where he had left it. He rushed through his satchels and produced two brie cakes and a jug of water. Running back to the orc, who had hoisted himself against a tree in an attempt to escape, he placed the items on the ground. He took a kneel to meet the orc's face.
"If you're so hungry, eat this" he said, holding one of the cakes close to the orc's tusked mouth.
The orc refused, so Ike bashed the cake on the orc's face and doused some water on him. The orc whimpered slightly. Looking to where they had originally tumbled, Ike fervently searched the ground as to hopefully find the shattered bottles of alchemy reagents the orc had attempted to use to escape. Finding one and it's label, he rushed back to the orc.
"Who's name is on this label? Who made this? They must be a friend of yours to have given it to you so lightly, right?" Ike held the label from the bottle inches away from the orc's face.
The orc coughed, and checked his wound, wiping some blood from his hands and onto his greaves as he did so. Looking at the label the orc slowly took it from Ike's hand and examined it.
"W-who?" he stammered, looking up cautiously at Ike's face.
Ike, losing his patience rapidly, grabbed the orc's shoulders, making sure he gripped the wound he created extra hard. The orc howled in pain, slamming his back into the tree.
"Yes, you idiot, who made this?" Ike barked.
"En-gen-er", he slowly said.
Ike sighed in frustration. What in the holy Light's name was an 'en-gen-er'? He examined the label after ripping it from the orc's hand. He saw a roughly drawn picture of a coastal town, set against brown mountains and hills to the background. The Barrens.
"Where in the Barrens was this?" he looked at the orc with renewed frustration.
The orc gave a weak nod, heaving his head from side to side. Ike sighed and pursed his lips, rubbing his stubbly beard. In almost an instant, Ike drew his dagger again and dug it into the orc's other shoulder, tearing clean through the armor again. The orc cried out in pain, however he was weak, and didn't move much from the jolt of a dagger going through his body.
"K-K-Krug... Firebane" the orc finally managed to say.
The orc slumped, passing out from the blood loss and shock of the pain of having two relatively deep wounds in his shoulders. Ike wiped the orc's blood from his dagger and sank it back into the scabbard. He was... puzzled to say the least. Krug was certainly an orcish name. Perhaps what the orc meant to say was engineer? But why would such an orc, an engineer, be crafting alchemical reagents used for vanishing into thin air? Ike carefully placed the torn label into one of the satchels lining his belt.
"Krug Firebane... doesn't sound like an engineer" Ike murmured to himself, cleaning himself of the mud and the blood from the fight.
Mounting his steed, Ike rode slowly, thinking deeply to himself of the events that had just transpired. Maybe it was possible that an orc who was an engineer possessed the intelligence... or at least the alchemical know-how to craft such reagents. The only question that burned on his mind now was where was this substance acquired? Perhaps more importantly than where, was how was it acquired by such a 'hungry' orc.
His mind flashed back to the slumped over, injured orc he had just beat the living daylights out of. He pulled on the horse to turn it around and briskly made his way to the sight of the fight. He dismounted, and walked to where the orc was passed out against the tree. He sighed, walking back to his horse and taking out more foodstuffs and water to leave for the orc. Maybe he really was hungry.
"Why must I feel remorse for such disgusting creatures?" Ike wondered aloud to himself, leaving the rations inside a leather pack.
He reached to the back of the saddle of the horse and produced bandages and healing salve for the poor bastard of an orc he had handily defeated. Before his hatred of orcs made him change his mind, Ike quickly made for the road ahead with his steed. He headed northwest, before a fork in the path made him change his mind upon seeing a faded sign, probably posted by the people of Theramore for travelers, directing him northeast to the Barrens.
As he rode to the outskirts of the marsh, Ike saw the wide-open purple night skies of Kalimdor, spread across a vast space barely obfuscated by anything on the ground. The stars shined brightly, almost illuminating the path before him, although such things weren't necessary. The cover of night suited him better in these lands anyway, for he was deep in enemy territory now. As these thoughts entered his head, he began to think of a place where he could lay his head for the evening without being killed in his sleep by a passing Horde army, or adventurer or the like.
It was just as he thought of these things, that, in the distance, a large plume of black smoke poured seemingly endlessly into the open sky. With his steed listening to his need for a fast pace through this place and toward the smoke, he soon came upon what appeared to be the ruins of a recently-finished battle between the Horde and Alliance.
He dismounted and scanned the battleground, which was, at this point abandoned by both sides, whichever side was victorious was unknown. However, it was a moot point – for in the distance the pale moonlight and bright starlight bounced off of a certain object that lay on the ground. Ike walked slowly to it, checking all corners to ensure he wasn't walking into an ambush. Upon reaching the item, he realized it was a very well taken care of, leather-handled, hydrospanner.
Grasping it and examining it, a smile very sneakily crept it's way across the general's face. It wasn't a smile of joy, or happiness, or elation. It was one of perverse bloodlust – almost akin to a hunter's smile as he traps an animal he has vaunted after for far too long. On the bottom part of the leather wrapped handle of the hydrospanner was a name, carved multiple times over after fading. Even though the text was in Orcish language, Ike could still understand what it said.
It said 'Krug Firebane'.
