Alright, boys and girls. Something I would like everyone to note before reading this: this is NOT a sequel to The Mission (see profile). I will recycle characters from that story, but that is because I love them and kind of wrote myself into a corner. Anyway, if you haven't read The Mission…then forget I said anything. As always, reviews are loved.
Chapter 1
Fifteen years of darkness. Fifteen years of suffering unspeakable atrocities. And though Cerberus had made them pay, though the orc slaughtered the elves and humans and dwarves and gnomes responsible for his suffering, some things could never be reclaimed.
Ale mixed with memories of agony and suffering and burned the wounds in his mouth. A soft growl escaped the orc's throat. He'd made the guilty ones pay: those who'd killed his family and stolen years from his life, but he could never forget. Every time he ate or drank he was reminded of what he'd sacrificed in vain, what that elf had stolen from him. Beside him, Pluto licked his hand tenderly, sensing the disturbance in the orc's soul. Cerberus smiled as he patted his wolf's shaggy head.
In the air, the aroma of alien races. Taff Wolfhoof, a tauren taught in shamanism, sat at the far end of the cabin, legs folded, deep in meditation. His muscular, fur covered form was completely motionless, save for the subtle rise and fall of his broad shoulders as he drew breath. The designated rogue of the four-man squad, a troll who went by the name Aloos, was also in a form of meditation. However, rather than silence and thought, his reflection involved practice of his capoeira fighting moves. He moved slowly, rehearsing battles in his mind and thinking of past mistakes he'd made.
And finally, there was the now familiar smell of an undead body in close proximity. Cerberus, as with most of the Horde, had been reluctant to make an alliance with such a manipulative and untrustworthy group as the Forsaken. The undead rogues had no doubt begun the treaty with plans of eliminating their allies when their immediate rivals had been vanquished. But, in the end, Thrall had been right in his trusting of Lady Sylvanas Windrunner. Ever so gradually, opinions on both sides changed. The living races breathed ideas of hope into their undead allies, thoughts that had been foreign to them since entering this retched existence. The undead gained the trusts of their living brethren through countless displays of valor, honor, and respect. Fear of inevitable betrayal had all but left the orcs, trolls and tauren. Thoughts of eventual treachery no longer held in the Forsaken's mind.
As for the belief that the undead felt no pain, that they didn't eat or sleep or breath: a simple lie. Perhaps the mindless creatures of the Scourge, the soulless abominations that lacked a will of their own felt nothing, required nothing. But as for Jonathon Eck, a proud member of the Forsaken and a loyal soldier of the Horde, he still felt. His lungs still drew breath and his heart still beat in his chest. He needed food to live and sleep to remain sharp. He felt warmth on his pail skin when the sun hit him and joy in his heart when he saw his lover.
He guessed the misconceptions stemmed from human propaganda. The zealots who slaughtered the Forsaken could justify the actions much easier by saying their victims felt no pain, and death was merciful.
Clawing on the door pulled the soldiers to attention. The orc clutched his rifle and aimed for the threshold as his wolf tensed and prepared to strike. The undead snatched his staff and repeated the words for a spell again and again in his mind. The troll broke his dance pulled the daggers from his belt. The tauren seized his shield and hammer from the ground and prepared to strike.
Desperate pounding against the wood, far too severe to be caused by the beating winds. And now words came in a strange alien langue.
Cerberus pointed to the door. Aloos understood and slipped to the threshold as his allies moved closer. Taking cover at one side, the rogue extended a hand and turned the doorknob. Aided by the beating winds of the outside storm, the door swung opened and a bloodied figure tumbled in. It found the floor quickly and crawled deeper into the cabin, still pleading in its strange alien tongue, before it succumb to exhaustion and collapsed.
None could believe their visitor. Wearing black and red robes, with long golden hair, healthy peach skin, and elongated ears, this newcomer was undeniably a male blood elf.
The orc approached carefully. First he poked the unconscious creature with the tip of his rifle. Next, bolder, he rolled the male onto his back so he could examine the face. Curious as well, Pluto made his presence at the elf's side. He sniffed the body careful, the scent so unlike the night elves the wolf had encountered before. It was spicy and burned the wolf's nose, unlike the earthy smell of forests that clung to a night elf's skin.
Cerberus wondered what should be done about the newcomer. Blood elves were part of the Alliance, and thus he should shoot the creature on sight. But honor stopped him. This pathetic creature was unconscious, unarmed, and completely defenseless. Even in war there was certain conduct one must follow.
"We should kill it," Eck said quickly in orcish.
"Ya," agreed Aloos. "Elves: bigoted pail freaked fucks. Can't trust mon."
The orc turned to Taff. "No," the tauren said. "We can't just kill it, not yet. Besides, it may know something. Then you two can interrogate it. Then, we can decide what to do."
"Alright," Eck said submitting. "I'll do what I can. No guarantees though."
The orc lifted the blood elf into powerful arms and placed him on a bed, above a blanket of furs.
Frustrated, the undead priest went to work. With a small knife, he cut down the robe the elf wore and discovered a fountain of blood erupt from a wound in his chest. The garb had applied just enough pressure to stop the bleeding, but now gallons of crimson were dripping onto the furs.
Utilizing the knife, Eck went into the wound and pried a bullet from the elf's body. More blood emerged. The undead waved his tauren ally over and told the bull to apply pressure to the hole while he attempted to suture the wound.
By the end, the elf had lost so much blood the undead doubted he'd live. He shrugged, washing his hands of the deed. "Now the tricky part," he muttered, sitting down on the floor. Decayed hands and long fingers began to glow as magic cascaded through Eck's body.
Bright, healing light moved from priest to elf.
Eck collapsed to the ground when he was done, short of breath and exhausted. Cerberus carefully helped his ally to his feet and sat him down into a chair. "I'll be fine," the undead assured. "Healings are difficult spell is all."
Across the room: Shaak, the blood elf, awakened with a loud scream. His breath roared through his lungs and his skin was cold and slimy from sweat and blood. Grief struck him like a fist to the chest, the thought of his family: slaughtered before his eyes by his own allies. The blood elf forgot himself, forgot to observe his surroundings, and allowed tears to rain down his cheeks.
Click.
Shaak looked up into the barrel of a rifle that was aimed squarely at his head. The owner, an orc, examined him grimly. "Was?" he choked through tears. "Nein bitte."
The elf's tongue immediately ground on Cerberus's nerves. He pushed the rifle harder into his head and he stopped. Slower than the hour hand on a clock, Shaak's reached into the baggy sleeve of his robe. His fingers brushed the finished wood of his wand and he carefully pulled it from its holster. Then, quickly, the elf muttered only one word. "Feuer!"
Fire burst forth from the wand's tip and threw the orc back. He landed hard on a table, the weak wood shattering beneath his weight. "Feuer!" Shaak screamed again as a black wolf leapt upon him. The burst of flames hurled the pet away.
Faster than a shadow, a troll leapt before the elf and, with a swift kick, knocked the wand from his hands. Aloos thrust an elbow into Shaak's nose, stomach, then flipped the slim humanoid of his shoulder. Shaak retaliated by grabbing the troll's shins and tripping him to the ground.
The blood elf stumbled to his feet and pleaded for peace in his native tongue, when furry arms the size of tree trunks wrapped around his waist. Taff restrained Shaak, but was careful not to crush his captive, which he easily could've done.
Across the room, Cerberus lifted his rifle to his eye.
BANG!
Shaak had been hit by arcane blasts that hurt more. The tauren let his captive fall. If it had been a real bullet in the rifle's chamber, he'd of been dead. But it hadn't been real; it was a stun round, a rubber shot. But that also meant all Shaak could do was lie on the ground until his lungs remembered how to breathe.
"Please," he managed to groan. The shot woke his brain enough for him to realize his mistake. Of course these creatures wouldn't understand an elfish tongue. But maybe they'd know common. "Please."
"Everyone," Eck shouted from across the room. "Wait." Using his staff for support, and checking the wand on his belt, the undead moved before the blood elf and lowered to his haunches. "You speak, elf? Surprising, most of your kind think it beneath you to use the human's tongue. What's your name?"
"S-Shaak. Shaak'Tilander Sungrass. I'm sorry I attacked you, but I only acted out of defense."
"Don't tell me, tell the ones you attacked."
"Can…can they understand me?"
"They know common just fine, can't talk fluently though. Course, Cerb can't talk all, not since you elves cut out his tongue. So I'd watch what I say."
"I'm sorry I attacked you, all of you," he said humbly. "Please forgive me."
Cerberus grunted and lowered his rifle.
"Now," Eck continued. "What would cause an elf like you to stumble into this Horde cabin?"
"My…my village was attacked, by the Alliance."
"The Alliance?" Eck repeated, standing up and looking to his comrades.
They all erupted with a fit of laughter.
"You must think we Horde are pretty stupid if that's the best you can come up. Seriously, your own comrades attacked you?"
"Its true," Shaak defended. "M-my village was raided by a group of Alliance soldiers. They slaughtered everyone, I barely escaped with my life."
"You honestly expect us to believe that don't you."
Shaak nodded hopefully.
"Alright then," Eck smiled, sitting down in front of the elf. Suddenly, the undead took Shaak's head with both hands and held him tightly. The blood elf tried desperately to pull away as he was pulled closer and closer to the rotted face. "Don't struggle," Eck hissed. "If you speak the truth, then you have nothing to fear. If you continue to resist I'll have to break you, and death is certain."
Shaak realized what was happening. Priests could dive into weak minds, and while the blood elf's defenses were quite strong, forbidding entrance would only confirm suspicions. As disgusting a thought it was, Shaak permitted his mind to be penetrated. He allowed the undead to see what he'd seen, to move within in him and read his thoughts.
After an eon long second, the undead released his hostage. He said but one thing. "We must tell the dark lady."