Kowler had been curious about the Deeprun Tram for a long while. It was a decidedly interesting structure that, prior to the Ulduar raid, had been the only train in the entirety of Warcraft. It tunneled through the mountains of Elwynn and Dun Morogh alike, forging a connection between the kingdoms of man and dwarf and gnome with a seamless sort of effort.
But sat on a benched seat at the back of the tram, donning a wickerwand pirate disguise, Bruegal at his side, with a thick safety bar fixed tightly over their laps had not been how he'd expected this to go.
"Got ter ask," Bruegal began, kicking his feet up and down like a little kid. "That trick ye did. Ta get us out. With the water. Couldn't ye have done that whenever?"
"I could," Kowler admitted, gripping the bar tightly. He'd never liked roller coasters, and this felt very similar to what one would begin as.
Overhead, the speakers blared.
"The boarding for Tram A: Stormwind to Ironforge, will now be closing." A highly pitched female voice sounded. A gnome, Kowler would guess. The side doors to the tram closed up with that statement. "Please find your seats and fasten your safely bar. Should it be needed, complimentary sickbag's are located behind your headrests. We depart in three minutes."
"Well why didn't ye? Earlier, I mean. Coulda been outa there months ago."
"Because I'm not actually all that clever." Kowler said quietly, noting the human sat benched in front of them. She seemed far more concerned with grabbing her sickbag than she did with their conversation, but it behooved the gnoll to be careful with his words all the same. "It takes time to do what I did. The elements are tricky to master, and stubborn besides when trying; even when they like you. Especially when they like you. I could only really heal with my water magic. While I could manipulate water to some degree, what you saw was far beyond anything I could have hope to do from before."
Kowler closed his eyes, seemingly lost in thought. "I felt I'd hit a bump, or a wall or something. I'd thought that all I could do with my totem was heal, not much else. Which wasn't bad! Healing is a huge boon! And it wasn't that I stopped practicing, I still tried to be creative with what I had. It's just I- I dunno, it felt like there was nothing more I could do with water. So I focused harder on other things, like scavenging and reading and planning for the day that I would leave Redridge; the paths that I'd take and the places I'd go and the other powers I'd gain. I admit, I grew complacent. My pack had stopped bothering me for sport by that point, finally understanding that I was one of their only healers and thus too important to lose to stupidity. Say what you will about gnolls, but when you have to fear for your life on the regular, you put more effort into your work and survivability. I was… content, I guess."
"Right…" Bruegal said, sounding understanding but looking confused.
"But when I was caught, when I was stuck in that cell… Well, there were no farms to scavenge, no books to read, no places to go; there was nothing. Targorr refused to talk to me, the guards and other prisoners barely paid me any heed… I genuinely had nothing better to do other than to put more effort into coming up with new tricks with my magic. It was just me and the elemental I was contracted to, it felt like. And the stronger our connection grew in that time, the more I could do with the water around us."
Kowler sighed. "I'll not forget that ever again. I'm self-taught in shamanism, but even still, it should have been obvious. The more you communed and grew close with your contracts, the more you could do with their power. When I get more contracts, when I find more elementals to work with, I'll remember that."
Bruegal shook his head. "Tha's all good, but not what I mean. How long could ye do what ye did ta get us out?"
Kowler scrunched his brow in thought. Even though he'd marked the months along his cell walls, it was still hard to remember exact timeframes. "…Five months in? I think? Maybe less?"
"So why'd ye not get outa there sooner?"
"Poor placement and a conscious," Kowler shrugged. "I wanted to get out, not kill everybody in the process. Had I escaped from my own cell, the Stockades would have flooded and the prisoners and wardens would have drowned. That's not to mention the bounty that'd be put on my head. I'd be a dead gnoll walking."
"Right, but ye coulda just started the riots earlier. Used yer magic ta cut through the bars and all that."
"I was going to do that soon enough, actually." Kowler admitted. "The plan was to escape during the Winters Veil festivities. It felt like it'd be safer with the waterways frozen over. All I'd have to do was use my magic and melt a hole through the ice. Targorr had said that they froze over completely, and the wardens had to give out extra blankets because of it, so I'd know when it was. There was no risk of drowning. Seemed a decent enough plan."
"Orc was wrong, lad. Stormwind's too far south ta freeze like that; it don't get cold enough. Sure, sometimes the waterways'd get frosted up, but they'd never freeze over all the way. Not like they do in Dun Morogh. Ye tried that, and you'da been stuck in ice-cold water on top of near drownin'."
Kowler felt his metaphorical gills go green at that and cursed himself stupid. He should have known, should have swallowed his pride and spoken to Thelwater about Stormwind winters when he'd the chance instead of Targorr. That could have been bad. "Then it's good fortune that we got out earlier."
"Aye, true enoUGH?!" Bruegal began, only to scream and soon laugh as the tram rocketed away. Kowler held onto his safety bar for dear life, feeling the slap of g-forces against his body stronger than anything he could find comparable.
He did not, as it turned out, like the tram.
The woman in front of them was quick to lose her dinner into her sickbag in silent agreement.
\ v /
/ ^ \
"Ye've been in jail this whole time, ye great fool?!" Gerder shouted, literally tackling Bruegal to the ground in order to wail on him, her blonde hair splaying everywhere. "I was worried! And now yer an escapee! I'll not have Brinn under the influence of a Makers bedamned criminal!"
"Lay off it wife!" Bruegal shouted back, twisting so that he was now on top of her, casually spitting out a lock of her hair in the process. Gerder did not tarry though, for she was apparently madder than she looked, and continued to slap and punch and grab at him. Bruegal was turning red with anger, and looked to be on the brink of fighting back with fists. "Ye were happy I weren't here! I bet ye shacked up with that foul turd Torren while I was gone. Admit it!"
"I ain't had time fer that! I've a kid ta care for, which ye seem to always forget!"
"Kid's got schoolin'! Yer lyin'!"
"Kid's got school and I've got work ya daft cunt!"
Behind them, sat at the dinner table of their Ironforge apartment, a pot of stew hot and bubbling and ready to eat, both Kowler and Brinn Ironknuckle, the son of Gerder and Bruegal, watched with rapt fascination at what was occurring before them.
"Is this normal?" Kowler lowly asked the kid. He was a boy of nine, with Bruegal's black hair and Gerder's green eyes, and somehow had been born with a calm disposition, completely different to both of his parents.
"They like ta fight," Brinn admitted with a slow nod of the head. Then, as if content to let them continue, which he probably was, the child graciously served stew into two bowls and passed one to Kowler. The disguised gnoll thanked the boy and continued to watch the scuffle with an interested gleam in his eye, taking a quick bite of his stew, near glowing at the first taste of a proper meal he'd had in months.
The Deeprun Tram ride had been quick, lasting only fifteen minutes. To cross zones in the timeframe, which were the equivalent of small countries in size, was genuinely astounding. Horrifying and likely would have caused Kowler to vomit had he food in his belly, but still. Astounding.
Equally astounding, if in a decidedly different manner, was Ironforge itself, to such a degree that Kowler could not really explain it. The tram brought them to Tinker Town, where the exiled gnomes of Gnomeregan camped. Kowler would admit he'd hoped to find High Tinker Mekkatorque stood on top of his great geared dais, but Tinker Town and Ironforge itself was much larger and more vested than the game showed, and it was not to be.
From there, Bruegal took him north, towards the Hall of Explorer's, where he penned out a quick letter to be brought to his supervisor before quickly rushing towards his family apartment, which was lucky enough to also be in the same area.
The response Bruegal had gotten from his wife was an unexpected one, or at least it was to Kowler. She did not greet him warmly, nor did she greet him coldly. She just opened the door, saw who it was, and said that they were having a late dinner and he'd best set the table before ushering them inside. Nothing else. Gerder Ironknuckle was the stone-cold sort, and the only acknowledgement she showed Kowler wasn't for helping Bruegal or keeping him out of trouble, but for "Not beatin' him down like a nail to a hammer. Maker knows I ain't got that kinda patience."
Which then began an argument that quickly spiraled into the here and now.
"She really was worried," Brinn said, wincing as his mother began to wail on his father with a mug she grabbed from a nearby shelf. A metal mug. "This is just how she shows it."
"She ever get worried about you the same way?"
"Oh, no." He quickly said, shaking his head wildly. "No, no, no. She'll cuff me sometimes if I get smart with 'er, but never like she does with da. Makers be praised fer that."
Kowler grunted. He then looked to his portion of stew, found that using a spoon was too slow, and just grabbed the bowl and slurped it from the base. Brinn looked at him in worry, shooting looks towards his mother, but when he realized she wasn't paying him any mind he quickly followed Kowler's example.
Their slurping seemed to break the anger of Gerder. She twisted her head around and zeroed in on them; a mother hen playing hawk. "Brinn! What the hell've I taught ye? Use yer damned spoon; use yer manners! I don't want ye actin' like yer father."
"Ain't nothin' wrong with m'boy takin' after me." Bruegal grinned, a purple bruise swelling over the whole of the left side of his face.
Gerder shook her head, sending an exasperated look towards her husband. "Lad already takes too much like ye, and it's more'n just looks. He needs his manners. Says he wants ta be a join up with League when he's grown."
"That true, sonny?" Bruegal asked, taking a seat. Gerder poured him a bowl and then one for herself and sat down at his side.
Brinn nodded shyly, taking a small spoonful of stew. "Morina's wanting to join up too."
Gerder sighed. "See what I mean? Takes after ye, Brue. Wants ta do the same sort of work as ye and he'll hunt after the girl he fancies from boy till man. Likely won't leave her 'lone till she's been worn down with her dowry in hand, same as ye did ta me. Would feel almost sorry fer Morina, if I did'nae know ye'd treat her right." She blinked, and then growled at her son. "Ye will treat her right. Hear me?"
Brinn flushed and stammered and Bruegal roared out a hacking laugh before happily began to tell the story of how he knew Gerder was the one for him at the age of seven, a story which heavily involved the an apple, a sheep, a lake, and a mouse. Half of the story was told in Dwarven, their own native language, and so Kowler could not understand it; the only Dwarven words Bruegal had deigned to teach the gnoll were less than child friendly. But Kowler did understand looks, and the quickly reddening cheeks of Brinn and the shy but full smile of Gerder told him that this was a decidedly sweet, if likely raunchy, story.
With their fight ended, and sat amongst the table as they were, telling happy tales of times since passed, the Ironknuckle clan looked a proper family.
It was, Kowler would admit, quite nice, and the simple happiness they seemed to hold for one another was something to strive for.
Perhaps one day.
\ v /
/ ^ \
"No."
"No?" Bruegal repeated, looking confused.
The dwarf in front of them, a female with a tight braid of greying orange hair and a harsh looking face named Usfer, frowned as she held up a rasher of bacon burned black, and once more said "No." before biting into the crunchy food viciously.
They were sat in her office in the Hall of Explorers proper after having spent a night in the Ironknuckle apartments. Much as Kowler appreciated the bed he was given, he did not want to repeat his stay with the family, especially not when the couple were so loud with their fornication. The gnoll really should have taken the earmuffs when Brinn offered them. It was now morning, though due to the fact that they were beneath a mountain one could not actually tell, and they were breaking their fast with a superior officer of the League. She was taking down Bruegal's request to rejoin his crew in the Badlands.
Normally speaking, he would need no permission, but due to his three weeks away and the fact that he wanted to bring an unknown party on along with him, it was necessary that Bruegal go through the DR department: Dwarf Relations.
That there were government institutions like this in a realm of fantasy really brought Kowler into a strange state of mind that he honestly had no idea how to explain. He just knew that it was weird, and that was about it.
The eggs were nice, at least.
"Why not?" Bruegal whined, mulishly moving some friend potatoes around with his fork.
"Excavations've already started. They hired out a merc team that was sittin' around in Thelsamar. They don't need any extra hands."
"Tha's a lie and ye know it." Bruegal refuted. "M'team was s'posed ta set the perimeter and start the quary. Aint no way they've started digging already, supplies and men ain't ready."
Usfer scowled in annoyed agreement. "A Dark Iron branch took on after our inspectors left to bring word to us. They started their own perimeters and quaries and excavations, and now it's been a battle just ta dust up some urns."
"Then that settles it! The team likely wants some extra fightin' hands, 'specially if they're already been paid for. More like, it'd be a waste ta not take me on."
"Aye." Usfer grudgingly allowed. "Were it just ye, there'd be no problem. It'd be welcome, really. But yer askin' ta add a newbie. There ain't gonna be no time ta teach on such a big dig."
"He'd be useful! Knows healing and is wicked with water magic. Trust me lass, he'd be worth it."
"Why would I trust ye when ye've been out fer three weeks and won't say why? Why would I trust a fool still wearing a Hallows End illusion? We're in November now. I ain't signing off on nobody that can't show their face ta me."
Kowler understood her plight, truly he did. And really, were he in her shoes, dealing with a vagrant employee and some rando in a pirate ensemble, he'd be wary too.
As it were, Kowler was warier of letting up the illusion than Usfer was of allowing him along.
Gnolls deservedly got a bad rap with the humans to the south, and while their relations with dwarves weren't as poisoned, it was a simple fact that the races of the Alliance held to the belief that the enemy of my friend is too my enemy, which was a deviation of the Horde's the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Gnolls were the enemies of humans, and thus, regardless of how well mannered he was and how fair he acted, he was counted among the enemies of dwarves.
Hells, he'd had to explain that the Bruegal when the dwarf had asked why he was wearing the illusion for this meeting. It did nobody any good to be surprised like that. Just because Bruegal was uncaring of the racial divides did not mean others would share his opinions.
Kowler shared a look with his friend, and Bruegal blustered through. "If he's ta lift the spell, I'll need written record."
"What kind of record?" Usfer dubiously asked.
"Non-aggression. And I want the good stuff, magicked paper; the binding kind."
She blinked, whistled, and then sunk back into her chair. "So, whatcher tellin' me is that beneath that little trick is something I'd fight? Something that'd worry me? He me girlhood flame er somethin'?"
Bruegal snickered. Kowler said nothing, just staring at the officer before them.
Slowly, Usfer reached a hand down into her desk drawers and pulled out a thick piece of parchment with dwarvish script written on it and placed it flat for all to see. The written language looked similar to what Gaelic was, Kowler bemusedly noted. She grabbed a small letter opener and pricked the tip of her thumb, blotting a line with some blood before offering it to the Ironknuckle.
Bruegal took the paper and scanned it, offering a slow, approving nod.
"What's it say?" Kowler asked, speaking up for the first time in the meeting.
"Basic stuff. Temporary contract statin' that s'long as ye don't do nothin' wrong, the League can't do nothin' against ye. It'll last the better part of a week. Had some politic types among us once, back when King Magni first founded the order. They tried ta red tape the League all the time, stole credit fer digs they weren't apart of an' would punish thems that didn't agree with their rules. Enough o' us gathered up and fought back, loud enough fer Brann Bronzebeard ta hear. Tha's when he took over the League, an' set the matter straight. Drafted up the magic contracts just in case, too."
"But how's it know whether or not I've done something wrong?"
"Contract paper'll turn red. Moment it does, yer more'n fair game. So, ah… Don't do that. It's safer."
Kowler hummed, and, trusting Bruegal's words, used his teeth to prick his palm. Smearing the blood onto the document, Kowler was taken aback when it rolled unto itself and floated away.
"It's headin' ta the logs." Usfer said, sucking on her thumb. "Now drop it. I'll know what I shed blood for."
"Walls are thick, there's no window, and the door's closed. Go ahead and let her see, lad." Bruegal agreed.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Kowler willed the illusion away. Many spells were had to remove, taking care and research to do, but these illusions were specifically designed to be removed whenever the bearer wished. His skin shifted to fur, his legs grew a second joint, his back near double in size and his face twisted into the muzzle of the gnoll.
Usfer went white at the face and literally leapt out of her chair and began a stream of dwarven cursing, known only due to Kowlers specialized vocabulary of the language. Bruegal was returning strong words with her in the guttural tongue, and they argued back and forth without heed of the fact that Kowler was still there.
Finally, after some five minutes of shouting, Usfer sat back into her chair and reverted to using Common. "The fuck you doin' bringin' a gnoll in here?!"
"I'm helpin' a friend!" Bruegal said.
"It's a gnoll!"
"I'm a he, actually." Kowler corrected.
"Ye could be the damned Maker and ye'd still be a gnoll." Usfer bit out. "I don't care if ye can talk a proper language or can use magic, yer still a gnoll."
"A gnoll that's followin' the contract." Bruegal growled. "The League's contracted troggs and murlocs 'fore. Why's this gotta be so different?"
Usfer groaned. "That trogg broke the accord within the hour it was written, and those murlocs were friendly already an' were paid well ta honor their word. I'm thinkin' this one's gonna be more trogg than murloc. Bruegal, the hell's yer problem? Ye don't see me bringin' no giant spiders near ye."
"Because there ain't nothin' worse than a spider." Kowler's companion said, shuddering slightly.
"A creature that's known fer eatin' its own kin sounds just as bad, fool."
Having grown accustomed over his time in the Stockades to the vocal vilification of his race, Kowler did not correct or even bother educating Usfer with regards to his own personal belief systems and his thoughts towards the idiocy of his race's cannibal problem.
He did, however, feel the need to correct the assumptions of his friend. "You're wrong, actually. There's a race up in Northrend called the Nerubians, humanoid and free-thinking spiders. They've got underground cities to their name and number in the thousands. Maybe millions. And their giant spiders? Properly giant, some even the size of a hill."
Bruegal's neck and face went puce and he soon began to blabber in fear and for his mommy, but Usfer's eyes sharpened and looked to Kowler with new interest, her diatribe seemingly forgotten even though it had been produced only moments prior. "We know o' the Nerubians, but only cause o' the expeditions sent to Northrend in search o' Prince Muradin. How do ye know of em, gnoll?"
Much as he would like to say, Kowler did not. Having learned his lesson from Eastvale, the gnoll was less inclined to spell it out. Besides, this was a chance at bettering his position. "Why would I give you details when you're likely to kill me anyways?"
"The League needs ta know! It could help us find our prince!"
"If the League wants anything from me, then I'd need to be a part of the League, with all the guarantees of safety and travel and pay that such a designation is allotted. And were I to be in the League, I'd want to be stationed in the Badlands with Bruegal."
Usfer shook her head, her braid whipping around without heed of the desk items knocked to the floor. Bruegal moaned in further despair as his bowl of grits toppled off. "Not happenin'. We can negotiate all we want, hells I could make ye a League associate right now if ye tell tale of the Nerubians, but I cannae do that. That dig's special. If we didn't know that then, we know it now. The Dark Iron's don't like ta leave Blackrock unless there's a good reason. The best o' the best o' the League are there, all havin' done somethin' o' merit ta earn their spot. Bruegal's been with the League fer years and earned his keep, but I ain't willin' ta send a nobody along."
"So let me prove myself." Kowler said lowly, leaning forwards. "Give me a task, something that would net me a position in the Badlands."
"Ye don't know what yer askin' for."
"Oh, I think I do."
Usfer huffed and reclined back into her chair, thinking hard. As she did that, Kowler took the chance to consume the rest of his breakfast. Kindly, he passed his grits to Bruegal, finding that they did not suit his palate as well as they once did. The dwarf, still pale and worried about spider-people, took the proffered food readily and ate with the gusto of a starving child.
"Well…" Usfer began, raking a thoughtful eye over Kowler's form. "There is one thing."
"Name it."
"In the Wetlands. There's a pack o' gnolls, the Mosshides they're called. We normally leave 'em be, they don't often bother travelers and they tend ta make the roads safer by huntin the crocolisks and slimes that live in the swamps. But a courier ran afoul the pack on route to Menethil Harbor an' barely made it out alive. Lost eight bars o' gold to 'em, straight from the royal coffers, stamped with Magni's own seal. Those bars were meant ta be brought to Auberdine in northern Kalimdor, to let Prospector Remtravel continue his work'n Darkshore an' buy supplies an' hire adventurers as needed."
"And you figure that I'd be better at handling those gnolls?" Kowler asked, raising a brow.
"Don't matter if you'd be better or not." Usfer said. "All that matters is that it gets done. Aye, yer bein' a gnoll helps me decision, but it was gonna be done anyhow. Plus, there's another matter. Mosshides have been havin' a bit of a population boom. Might be what set 'em off in the first place. Lessen their numbers and grab the bars at the same time, then bring 'em ta Shilah Slabchisel in Menethil Harbor, she'll bring 'em the rest o' the way."
"And, should I do this, you'll let me join the Badlands team?" It was not that he was opposed to this task. Much that he found it annoying, he'd killed more gnolls than any other race of Azeroth so far. But it still behooved Kowler to insure that there were no other tasks needing to be done.
"I won't, no. But I'll be havin' another League officer join ye, he'll give the final say-so. Ye do good and act right, he'll sign off. Ye act off in any way, then no, yer goin' nowhere."
Kowler shrugged, not particularly bothered. It was honestly fair, and more than he'd expected to have come out of this. "Fine. I accept."
Usfer nodded and then got to work. She pulled out a blank piece of parchment, grabbed a quill, dipped it into an inkpot twice and then began to write. When she finished, she rolled the parchment up, wrote out a draft on another piece of paper, and grabbed a pot of blue wax. Pouring a dollop of it onto the parchment, she grabbed a stamp and the symbol of the Explorers League took its place.
She lifted the roll and offered it to Kowler. "Take this ta Talvash del Kissel, a gnome in the Mystic Ward. He'll be yer superior officer. These orders are fer his eyes only, gnoll. Got it? No funny business."
"My being a gnoll won't matter to him?" Kowler asked, needing to make sure. Of the twelve wands Bruegal had purchased, Kowler and Targorr split them evenly. Conservative with their usage, Kowler still had his six wickerwands, with a total of twenty-six charges inside of them. Meaning he had a grand total of twenty-six hours' worth of transformations, which would likely not last him on a mission such as this.
Or was this even a mission? Did this qualify as a quest?
Food for thought.
Usfer shook her head. "No, if anything, he'll pepper yer noggin raw. Gnome's a mage, an annoyin' one ta boot; won't be able ta hold back. He'll be able ta craft a proper disguise, too. Wrote down that it'd be needed in the paper."
With a grateful nod, Kowler stood, using another one of his wickerwands to don his illusion once more. It disintegrated in his hand, now leaving him with five fully charged wands. He then grabbed the parchment from her outstretched hand and looked to Bruegal, waiting.
His friend stood, ready to move, but Usfer stopped him. "Not ye, Bruegal."
"Huh?"
"This's fer the gnoll only. Yer gonna spend a couple more days with yer kid, then head ta the dig."
"But-…"
"No buts." Usfer scowled. "Ye'r three weeks late, fool. I shouldn't even be given ye those days, should just stuff ye on the back of a gryphon and send ye on yer way. It's a kindness."
Grumbling, Bruegal nodded. Still standing, he turned to Kowler, and opened a hand. Kowler shook it readily.
"Well, looks like this's it." Said the dwarf.
Kowler shook his head. "Not for long. I'll see you soon enough, just need to finish up with my own dues first."
"Aye, true 'nough. Be seein' ye soon then, Kowler."
"You too, Bruegal."
With that, Kowler left the building, and made his way towards the Mystic Ward, hope in his heart and warmth in his body.
…And greed glimmering in his eye.
Okay, I guess I lied. Now we're gonna slow down on chapters.
Bit of a jumping chapter, going from Stormwind to family time to a quest. I actually liked that a lot, not sticking with a subject for too long. I think I'll be doing that more often as the story progresses.
So! Things are moving forward! Much as I wanted to just go straight to Uldaman, there are regulations for everything, even fantasy worlds, and he's gotta prove himself to more than just Bruegal to make his way through. Which should be fun! Kowler hasn't ever had the chance to interact with another gnoll pack before, nor has he ever interacted with a gnome. Stuff is happening, and I'm enjoying the process of said stuff happening.
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