Disclaimer: Still… with the owning and the not…ing…. Pretty much, lets get this straight. I will probably have to write this thing 30 times or more in my life time… and maybe others. I just write this so Blizzard doesn't sue me. Please Blizz, I'm your worthy follower, don't bring your lawyers!
A/N: Here we are again, a perfectly crisp spring day with the sun on my head and the wind in my hair. And here I am again, writing fan fiction and totally loving it. Here's some comments!
Oh Crimson Reaper, sneaky, sneaky! Yah, Var'Jun did sound a little drunken there. I thought it was sort of funny, rambling half to himself and half to Weary Traveler. Which of course is my skewered idea of funny. Var'Jun sounds like he needs a good six pack, he's gone sort of loopy in the sun. Yah, there's a kill off coming soon, some more twists (big ones!) and some blood/gore/violence as you so poetically put it.
DIE, DIE, DIE! Yah, Malchior must get that a lot Maithgean. He really is an evil person, and don't worry. I have something nice in mind for him. Evil eyes And very perceptive of you. I've been waiting for someone to discover Var'Jun's game counterpart, but I've never heard of Maur Raincaller. I thought Raincaller was my name... poo.
And, to all those who reviewed after I wrote the beginning, then a happy day to you all and here's chapter nine!
Chapter Nine: Retribution
Gwyn froze as another blow rained down upon her back. She could feel her leather armor giving way, the whip in the undead's hand slicing with ease through air and flesh and cloth.
"Enough," Thralk smiled, his rasping voice causing his man to freeze in mid swing and the shivering elf on the ground to tense. Her pain filled his Awareness and made him feel indomitable. He breathed in the air that was mixed with suffering to taste the druids fear.
"You may leave now. Tell the guards to come no closer if they value their pathetic flesh. I'll call to them if need be." Thralk turned his attention away from the fleeting undead rouge and back to Gwyneth. Her breath was labored and hard, her hands pulling at the rocks in the ground.
"Well Gwyneth, what do you have to say for yourself? Would you like to tell me why Yawna isn't dead yet, hm?" Thralk kicked the elf in the side with a steel tipped boot. The summoner could not be bothered to get his hands dirty when whipping the elf, but he could manage this.
"You-you did not… you did not hold up your end of the bargain." Gwyn gasped out with effort. She rolled over on to her side, easing herself up into a sitting position so she could fix a gaze of venom Thralk's way.
"Oh but I did." Thralk assured her, reaching out a rotting hand to pet the night elf on the head. She could hardly throw him off, but her skin prickled under his touch and she spat at his feet.
"You see," Thralk continued, his voice dripping with patience in a way Yawna's did, but the smooth and polished patience in which he was slyly persuasive. "I promised you the safety of your mother and her council. I never promised the safety of the caravan, nothing could be done about that sadly. But it was a healthy persuasion. You were not working fast enough."
"You double crossed me. I never expected you to raid the caravan for my mother and her council. Maybe I thought you would watch them from a distance like a civil Azerothan. Not like a beast."
"But dear Gwyneth, I never take chances. Now be kind and tell me your latest vision, I know it was quite a large piece pf the puzzle." Thralk leant close to the elf, his rancid breath making her grimace.
"I.. I can't remember it." Gwyn faltered, her memory producing the image of Yawna's calm face. As an oracle Gwyn was almost forced to be a shell for all prophecies, especially on the Awareness. When it came to whom she'd rather serve Yawna was top choice, but Thralk had threatened her mother.
"Maybe your mother could remind you. Shall I bring her out for you to see? It might take days, but we could hurry her." Thralk smiled as a change passed over the night elf's face. She stiffened and seemed to think hard before replying.
"Well, it was just a vision of flames and a voice spoke me the first part of the prophecy…"
Thralk cleared his throat before reciting dutifully:
"'Bonds of friendship must be made
In order to disprove what lies have been laid.
Where forces of hatred do conspire,
Only rain can quench the fire.'"
Gwyn nodded. Her eyes were frantic, a haunted look swirling in them. She seemed frantic for a fleeting second and Thralk balked for a moment, watching her with scrupulous eyes when she continued with a deep breath:
"'Scars of past in tattered hope,
Twin Awareness, tight walk rope.
Light and dark. Blood and fire.
See the blindness through the mire.'"
"Only when Light doth pass,
Through the blindness rain does mass
Darkness wary eye does see,'"
Gwyneth paused here, her breathe bated. She looked up at Thralk and he thought he saw daring in her eyes. But the undead summoner was on edge. He was sure that Yawna was the light and he the dark. What he would see would be revealed through the elf's words.
"Yes?" Thralk said, his voice lost of all threat and more of an anticipation and hunger in the tones.
"' Untainted victory.'"
Thralk purred with pleasure. His mouth curved into a smile from which the flesh dripped, ever rotting. His gums peeled from his teeth, stretched so wide they pulled and began to bleed. But Thralk cared little, for he was laughing. His mirthful laughter turned insane and made Gwyneth huddle up miserably on the ground below him.
"Test that, Yawna," Thralk gave Gwyn another bleeding grin, "A prophecy that brings her hope now portrays her downfall."
Var'Jun paused on the lip of the knoll. His heart ached, for his home was in ruins. What was left of the attacked village was only the broken and whimpering shacks that still were stained with smoke. The troll had been gone months, yet the bodies of undead littered the ground. Var'Jun curled his lip in disgust over his long tusks. They were fresh bodies.
A few trolls and orcs began to slowly emerge from the desolate hobbles. Most of them looked weak, frail, and sickly. Their skin was pulled gaunt over their ribs and a few of them were staring at Var'Jun with a strange hunger. Other's looked a little less worse in body, but their spirits were down. They were stained with fresh and old blood and carried chipped and rusty weapons.
"So," A deep voice boomed, a mocking strand threaded through the words, "The Lost Prince returns once more. Have you come to claim the throne, to lead your slaves back into battle. Or will you just allow us to kill you now? Maybe you have brought some friends from the Alliance to help?"
It was so good to hear the troll language spoken again. Var'Jun prepared to revert from the common language to the troll's again, for traveling with Kat and Gwyn had forced Yawna and he to speak in the common language. Var'Jun had learned it from his mother, who said he should know all languages just in case he ever need them. He could have had no way of knowing that Two-Moons had the same principle brought out in Yawna.
Var'Jun winced as the speaker came forwards though. When Var'Jun had left Mitka had been a very healthy and strong troll with cords of thick muscle. But now, after Var'Jun had fled the fire, Mitka had been transformed. He was a wiry skeleton, skin pulled taut over ribs and one of his tusks snapped off at the base. The most noticeable difference though, was an ugly burn that formed half of his face into marred flesh, a miracle his eye had survived at all.
"Mitka, I never-"
"Silence!" Mitka roared, his hand clenching on an aging saber, " You never meant to leave us in our time of need? You never meant to abandon your responsibility to the throne? You never meant to allow Alliance members into our borders?"
"You sure are full of questions today Mitka." Var'Jun smiled weakly. Internally he winced, pain overflowing his heart like flood waters from a river.
"And you are full of bravery. Why have you returned, coming back does you no good. Prince or not, your treachery and abandonment will not go unnoticed. Punishable by death whether you come quietly or not."
Var'Jun nodded, his head bobbing up and down with ease. He was agreeing his life away. Most of the surrounding trolls and orcs eyed him as if he were mad, others looked around as if suspecting ambush.
Only one did not react with surprise or hostility. It was a female troll with flaming red hair that was pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her skin was a light creamy green and she was dressed in the clothes of a warrior that had been starved lately, patched hanging loose where they should have been taut.
"Peace Mitka," The troll sighed softly, laying a hand over the saber and guiding it's tip to the ground, "Var'Jun has acted rashly, but he may still redeem himself. Killing him now would be a deep wound to Meh'rah."
"Where is my mother?" Var'Jun interrupted the trolls softly. He had suddenly recognized her with a sickening jolt. His childhood friend Gar'Ihn looked at him now with the face of an adult with ancient eyes. He had caused her great suffering once.
In his young foolishness Var'Jun had sought to connect Alliance and Horde. He had found a warrior in the mountains who promised negotiation. When Var'Jun had guided him back to the trolls camp he had slaughtered all in his sight. Or at least he had tried to. Instead he had wounded five, only succeeding in killing Gar'Ihn's mother.
"We must talk to you," Gar'Ihn said softly, her face constricted with pain. Mitka snorted, following her as she led Var'Jun into a nearby hobble. The crowd parted as the warrior was led into his ruined home, the people silent as their prince returned.
When Var'Jun was safely out of the crowd's earshot he was offered a chair at a dusty table across from Mitka and Gar'Ihn. It was then that they began to piece together the story, and even though Var'Jun rested his hand on Weary Traveler's head he still felt the urge to be with his friends once more.
"Your mother, Var'Jun, the Queen of the Thornweave Out Casts, is dead. Slain by an undead no less, and not just any undead, but the King of the Undead nowadays. When the fires struck your home and you fled to escape your duties the feared summoner Thralk slipped a sword through your mother's ribs." Gar'Ihn placed a hand over Var'Jun's, "Meh'rah is dead."
A few bitter tears of sorrow clung to Var'Jun's eyes. He blinked them away, refusing to weep. He had been taught never to show emotions. He would not give up his teachings now.
"That makes me-"
"The undisputed Prince," Mitka snorted, "And when you finally take a wife, the undisputed King. And do you know where that leaves me, one who suffered so much for my home and did not abandon it when the times of danger came. It leaves me still, Mitka of the Burn. Still nothing more." Mitka ran a delicate finger down the marred flesh on his face, his tusks bared fully as his lips curled upwards.
"You've been gone so long," Gar'Ihn said softly, ignoring Mitka and watching Var'Jun teary-eyed, "It's like you're coming back from the dead."
"Wait," Var'Jun said, realization dawning on his face, "An undead slayed my mother? But we are allies." When this was met by blank faces Var'Jun's stomach plummeted into his toes.
"You don't know?" Mitka asked, his eyes betraying suspicion, "The undead have declared themselves a separate party. They fight to overtake all other races. Most of the orcs have already surrendered to their massive numbers and Tauren have been forced to surrender their holy lands. They are lead by an ambitious summoner, Thralk. He came her negotiating during the fire, promising he'd put it out in exchange for our lands, money, and children."
"Children?" Var'Jun asked, "What would he want with children?"
"A new army," Gar'Ihn replied heavily. When your mother refused he killed her and left us to burn. The undead have branched away. The orcs and Tauren will fall to their might, wait and see. Soon they will be our overlords."
A silence hung between them for a while, like a heavy rain cloud in the air. It was a long time before anyone spoke, but finally Var'Jun's lips parted with regret as he stood slowly.
"I'm afraid now I can't let you kill me." Var'Jun mumbled apologetically, his head bowed, "I came here today with every intention of letting myself fall into your hands and allowing myself to die. It was a quick escaper, but now I see not the right route. Please, don't force me, because I will fight back."
Mitka and Gar'Ihn watched him with gazes that half measured anger and half measured agreement. It was Mitka who finally nodded with reluctance, his words sliding out of his mouth as he rolled them about on his tongue to get a feel for them.
"I hail to you Prince Var'Jun, for once again you have baffled me with your mood swings," Mitka of the Burn stood before his long hated enemy and his Lord and held out a hand. A peace offering. When the agreement was shaken upon warmly Mitka smiled for the first time in quite a while.
"I suppose we can let you slip away, and let me tell you this is the only chance you'll get. But first you must answer a question from me. Who are the companions I see that your eyes pine for so much?"
Var'Jun blinked, looking down at Weary Traveler. He sighed softly, knowing full well that no matter where he traveled he would still be putting himself and anyone around him in danger. It was a terrible ordeal that could kill anyone Var'Jun loved, including his mother.
"There is no one." Var'Jun said softly, putting a heavy hand on Mitka's shoulder. "There never was anyone. Who would put up with me?" With a sad smile that made Gar'Ihn's heart ache the Troll slipped out through the tent flap, one last flick of his wrist the only goodbye that his hand could offer.
"There is someone," Mitka growled softly, "Var'Jun always was a poor liar."
"I will follow him for a short while and make sure no harm comes his way from our people." With barely a sound Gar'Ihn slipped out through the tent flap as well, her tall ears tickling the top of the entrance and exit.
Gar'Ihn caught up to the stealthy troll easily. He had slipped with the practiced facility of a Prince royal past the guards that had watched over him when he was a child. Gar'Ihn snorted in frustration as she was forced to lie to the protectors in order to gain passage. Not more than once did she wish for the fluidity and strength of the trolls born with royal blood.
Var'Jun had already detected her presence behind him. With hope he could drive her away without having to turn violent. It would be easier if no one would accompany him on this journey, for he knew the dangers that came with being an assassin of a major figure. He would find Thralk and snatch his revenge from his foes cold fingers.
"Var'Jun wait," Gar'Ihn hissed as she reached his stride. They stood on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a vast expanse of ever-shifting plain grass and a small oasis that offered life to many a different creature.
"You can not follow me Gar'Ihn. It is far too dangerous for anyone to be with me."
"But what of the woman that would face to danger to be with you." Gar'Ihn hissed back, her face suddenly pulled into a taut grimace, "What will you tell her?"
"But Gar… You and Mitka are-"
"Engaged, and it is not long after that I will bear him a fine little warrior. I don't speak of me Prince," Gar'Ihn smiled almost smugly, "You take too much credit for yourself. What about the look that I see in your eyes? She must be a lucky troll Var'Jun."
The warrior glanced down at his feet, unable to say anything. For a long moment there was a silence only interrupted by Weary Traveler's wheezy laugh.
"Do not push those who care for you away Var'Jun. The last thing I ever said to my mother is that I hated her. I've spent all my life looking back on that. Don't make my mistake, draw close the ones you love."
Long after Gar'Ihn had headed back to camp and the moon had begun to rise did Var'Jun look North again. Thoughts of a rag-tag band of misfits traveled through his mind. The oracle druidess, the huntress, the paladin (unfortunately), and most of all the priestess.
Yawna's hooves clacked the small rocks that littered the trodden down dirt. The undead camp was a restricting vice, the minds and sadness of these undead soldiers closing in on her with a strength like no other. The pressure on her mind hurt, but Yawna had to find her friends.
A small cry made Yawna jump out of her skin. She had run into unfamiliar territory in her haste. Her mind played back the images from only moments before. Thralk had known Two-Moons, but things didn't add up. Two-Moons had never mentioned an undead with such a strong mind. The huntress whimpered faintly.
But the cry had come from something else. It was more of a child's cry, a small tent to the right surrounded heavily by guards was the source. Above the tent flap was a streak of black paint that signified the undead colors and below that, a streak of crimson. Blood red crimson.
Yawna's Awareness picked up a feeling of intense suffering and fear from within the tent. She unwittingly found herself stumbling towards it, her arms raised slightly as if to absorb the shock of being near the terrible structure. One guard saw her first, his mouth twisting into a yell of warning. The second spotted Yawna as well, his spear barring her way to the tent flap.
Yawna recognized the second guard as the same undead who had served Thralk and her the wine and cheese in his tent. An idea sparked in her head and she bent gracefully down on to one knee in front of the undead.
"Please," she begged, "I come bearing a cal from Lord Thralk. He has need of both of you in his tent. I am a messenger to him. I am to guard the ten while you two are away." Disbelief crossed the undeads' faces as this statement was made.
"Prove it," the familiar guard called out, his eyes roving over her like a hawk stalks a mouse.
"Only minutes ago Thralk and I sat, eating good white cheese with chestnuts in it and drinking smooth grape wine." Yawna almost laughed as the undead's face became dumbstruck. He paused, nodded at the first guard, and then lifted his spear and stalked off, his companion following close behind.
It was dark now, so when Yawna stepped into the tent she could see very little. She called out a soft hello, the bellowing and yet gracefully swooning arches of a tauren's voice slipping into the tent. A soft chorus of whimpers followed from the inhabitants of this hobble and then a light switched on.
"Oh, how very clever of you Yawna. Really, you are too much." Thralk's face loomed out from the shadows cast by a grim and dirty little lantern. Around him were dozens of children, undead children. Their faces were so stricken with fear and angst that they looked more like specters of stories than living creatures. They were as far away from Thralk as possible, gathered in dirty rags and bare feet with their childish innocence.
In his hands Thralk held a small undead child. She was young, no more than three perhaps. The summoner held her on her back, her face staring out at Yawna with her mind screaming into the Tauren's. "Please get him away."
"And now I find the extent of your power," Thralk said softly. Her chuckled, his hands suddenly tightening. There was a sickening snap throughout the tent and the little child in Thralk's arms went limp, her spine bent a way no spine should go.
Yawna fell to the floor, her own body in flames of torment. She felt the young life slip away and watched as Thralk drank in the pain, his mind strengthening by folds. Yawna weakened further and Thralk nodded.
"Interesting," he leant his head down, his neck popping with the sounds of age and his eyes gazing at the tauren as his teeth pierced the shoulder of the body, tearing away a chunk of flesh which slipped down his red throat. Cannibalism was an undead skill.
Yawna screamed in agony, her mind and body crumpling into one large mass and laying limp on the ground.
"Untainted victory," Thralk breathed.
"Don't worry Kat, I'll watch over you." Malchior said for what must have been the hundredth time. He smiled weakly at the priestess, his hands still trying to free themselves of their bonds.
"I can take care of myself," Kat snarled. Her temper was frayed, sitting in the dark prison that was constantly guarded by warriors who Kat had remember Var'Jun describing once as 'past their life expectancy date.' The undead made her spine crawl and she shuffled her feet, her mind reeling.
"I'm more worried about how Yawna and Gwyn are faring. It can't be any better than us, probably worse. To tell you the truth, we are probably unharmed compared to what might be happening to them."
"Oh, I'm sure the tauren is alright," Malchior spit with contempt, "It was leading us into a trap all along anyhow. It and the undead are probably allies."
"Please," Kat barked angrily, the closed her eyes and replied more softly, "Please don't start Malchior. I can't stand it when you start to talk about the Horde."
Kat was sure the paladin would have begun again nevertheless, but there was a stirring outside. Kat heard clear undead voices drifting thorough the tent.
"Thralk declared open range on the male. Whatever anyone wants to do with him, he's yours. Would make good target practice I daresay. Looks like he's be a good runner." The voice was low and raspy as if someone were rattling a cupboard of gravel along with the tones.
"And what of the woman?" The voice was quick and lilting, filled with a hunger that would have made the back of a cat arch.
Kat began to tremble.
"Thralk had given her to me." The first voice said, a shadow blocking out the light on the tent door. "He thought I could relieve some tension."
Wow, that was the worst cliffie I think I've left you people with yet. Sorry, there wasn't much of Yawna or Kat in these chapters, but the up coming ones have a lot. All you anime fans can check out my new Trigun fic if you want to. It's actually not too bad. Sorry about this chapter coming out so late. My computer and me had some issues that needed to be solved. mace and chain We are all better now. And until next time…
Remember that procrastination is just like masturbation, it's only fun until you realize that you are just screwing yourself.