Author's Note & Standard Disclaimer: Warcraft and related intellectual property are, quite naturally, owned by Blizzard Entertainment. I am not them.

Thanks for all the reviews so far and I'm really sorry it took so long to get this out. Midterms are not pleasing to me. For those of you who've been asking questions, you'll have to wait and see. I will mention that I play (Troll priest Rholdakh) on the Arathor (US) server.

It was hard to say what he'd expected. Rholdakh knew that to expect any member of the Horde to live in luxury was folly of the highest order, so he hadn't been expecting luxury. He knew the undead were former humans, and having never been in a human home might have put him at a disadvantage... but he hadn't been expecting this.

They'd flown away from Shadowprey on wyvern-back. That had been a new experience for Rhol, and he had to wonder, in retrospect, if the great winged beast was used to its riders cursing steadily before losing the contents of their stomachs over the scenery whirling past below. Guineve, looking back, had seen the distinctly green tinge of Rholdakh's face against the troll's blue skin, and had wheeled her wyvern down and to the left. Rhol's own mount had followed it and, much to his relief, they found themselves on the ground amid dusty red rocks and tauren-painted tents.

The troll had briefly considered kissing the giant Tauren woman running the inn at Stonetalon as he took slow sips of spring water. His suggestion that he could stand the nausea long enough to move on was met by cold scorn from his teacher, who seemed to be waiting for something.

Then there'd been the appearance- a swoosh and a bang as a blue flash of light resolved itself into a Forsaken in flowing red and white robes. Guineve had curtseyed to this new arrival and Rholdakh, taking his cue from her, had bowed. Then this new Forsaken had made a pass or two in the air and Rholdakh had realized he was a mage, opening a mystical passage from this inn to... wherever it was they were going.

Rholdakh had caught a glimpse of eerie green light through the portal before Guineve had nearly shoved him through.

The sensation had been extremely unpleasant- like being turned inside out through your eye sockets- and then he'd found himself, still dazed and dizzy, surrounded by eerie laughter and grotesque stone carvings...

...then the world had spun around him in a crazed blur, and he'd felt an impact just above his ear...

And now he was here. And he hadn't been expecting this. He was lying on his back on something soft and faintly yielding, almost like his hammock back home but without the reassuring sway and give of the net.

He sat up slowly and carefully and took stock. He didn't seem too terribly injured. There was no wound on his head where he remembered the impact. Now that he knew how he was, he looked around. He was sitting on something soft, which was itself resting on a sort of four-legged table with taut rope where the boards should be. It was low enough to the ground that he could sit on it and have his feet easily touch the ground.

"It's called a bed."

He looked around. Guineve was watching him carefully, as though afraid he might bite. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply you were ignorant. I thought you might be confused."

Rhol shook his head. "No, mon, I never saw one before..." It wasn't until after the words were out of his mouth that he realized just how stupid that made him sound.

His new teacher raised an eyebrow. "You've never seen a bed? What, you slept in the dirt?"

Rholdakh let his lip peel back in a defensive scowl. "We had hammocks. We be not some stupid brutes, mon."

Guineve raised her other eyebrow. "Then don't talk like one. I am Mistress Weaver, not 'mon'."

The troll made a visible effort to speak in what he clearly believed to be a formal manner, placing a careful snapping emphasis on the ends of his words. "As you be wishing, Mistress Weaver."

The Forsaken woman regarded him carefully. "You're not joking, are you...? I have so much work to do."

Rholdakh glared at her.

Things did not get better that day. Rholdakh's appointment to be Guineve's student had apparently caught both of them by surprise. Guineve spent the next hour presenting Rholdakh with things she saw as being clearly part of the basics, and Rholdakh spent the time explaining, with increasing frustration, that he had not intended to be a priest and needed the actual basics.

It was at about four in the afternoon that things came to a head.

Specifically, Guineve presented Rholdakh with a scroll filled from left to right with cantrips and runes. "You'll need to learn these, then. That's about as basic as I can make things for you, troll."

The slight derogatory sneer in her voice did not go un-noticed by Rholdakh as he stared at the symbols on the scroll. "Uh... Mo...Mistress Weaver?"

Guineve looked up from her own spellbook. "Yes?"

"I never done this before, m-ma'am." Rholdakh was clearly still trying to speak formally.

She looked at him incredulously. "What, you never learned the basic cantrips of the Light and the Shadow?"

Rhol gazed at her levelly. "Not what I be meanting. I never did magic before, and this scroll is not be helping."

She'd giggled, and matters had come to a head- specifically, Guineve's head- Rhol had thrown the scroll at it and stomped out of the building.

Now it was getting dark, and while he knew exactly where he was, he was having some trouble remembering where he'd left Guineve's house. What he did know was largely rumor... the Forsaken had taken over this entire area a year ago, after the Third War. He'd been too young to fight, then. He'd heard stories of how swarms of the risen dead had simply and with little preamble smashed the human nation under the command of their dark prince Arthas Menethil.

And now it was getting dark. And here he was. In the middle of nowhere.

A hand clamped over his mouth and he fought back a howl. Guineve's voice hissed in his ear. "If you shriek, we're both dead." He considered pointing out that she'd already reached that point. He also considered biting off a finger or two. In the end, common sense won out and he went quietly with her back to her home.

Dark eyes glittered as they watched the two go. Dark fur rippled as a stealthy form followed the pair back.