Disclaimer: I don't own Warcraft but I did play in Warsong. That was a blast!
A/N: Right now it is not raining, I'm in an optimistic mood, and there's a turtle in my pool! Wow, that was totally random. If no one's figured out I'm to be out of school soon (two weeks and counting) so I'm in a great mood. And now on with the reviews!
Yes Kage it was quite a time jump wasn't it? Two years is a long time. And yes the story is still going. It has a lot more to go in fact.
Sorry Reaper I had to leave you hanging. How would I make you come back? Yep, Var'Jun had marriage plans with Crota half because he's sort of broken and half because he needs to be a king to lead his people. Yawna's side will be told too. That's good about your sleepover.
Hello Ivoid nice to see a new face with such helpful criticism. Yes, my plot seems predictable now, but oh you wait. Good to have a long time reader review. I often make typos because I'm dyslectic and have the tendency to switch my letters up a bit. I'm aware my grammar bites, I've told myself time and time again. Believe it or not I've gotten much better, and that's hard to imagine. I'm trying. Sorry about that, you'll have to bear with me. As for the prophecy, you might think it's predictable but you wait. There's much more in store for that. And, of course, it's not finished yet. There's another few parts. Writing rhyming prophecies is hard. -- I know they are wyverns in the wild but when you want a ride you click on the 'Wind Rider Master' I believe. Haven't flown in a while. That might be only World of Warcraft though.
Geolord, troupe can be spelled 'troop or the way I type it. I like it the British type way though. It makes me think of warriors more than the other which reminds me of soldiers.
Right then!
Chapter Twenty: How Quickly Time Flies
Yawna could feel her heart becoming cold. It had been only a few weeks since she had been captured, stark, raving mad and half starved in the woods. The tauren had no recollection of most of what had happened. Sometimes she would remember small snippets, tiny pieces of what had happened after the fire.
She knew she had awoken slowly, her mind clouded with ash and sorrow. But she was hardly burnt at all when she should have been, only a few patches of fur removed from her arms when her entire body should have been engulfed by the conflagration. Yawna couldn't figure out what had happened until she had tried to move.
The tauren was floating in water. It was a bubble of sorts, though rather a reverse bubble with water inside and air on the outside. The tauren was curled up inside of it like one would curl into a nest or bed. An actual air bubble was curled around her nose, something like a small tube of air leading outside the orb of water to give air to the huntress. The suspended globe of liquid, so alien and strange to the tauren, made her only want more and more to escape what seemed to her. Yawna remembered the anger of the fire. She had to know what happened to the others.
With only her will power the huntress managed to concentrate on the bubble and burst it, the cool liquid flowing over pieces of charcoal that floated on it like little boats on the ocean. The tauren had stood slowly, her clothes dripping and her heavy braided mane a black and wet heaviness at the back of her head.
Yawna couldn't bring herself to begin to walk across the charred village and search for what she was sure were the broken and burned bodies of her friends. Her Awareness was shot from producing enough strength to create the ball of water and keep herself inside without it evaporating in the heated fire. The tauren didn't think she could handle to see them, already death was clinging to the air. Yawna didn't know if it was the residual feelings of the long dead pile of Murloc bodies or the friends Yawna had been traveling with for days upon days. She didn't really want to know.
Yawna couldn't remember after that for a while. It was all a dizzy blur until she had stumbled upon a human town. She wasn't even sure which one or even if it was a full human town. They had driven her out forcefully anyhow though not as forcefully as most would have wanted. The town seemed to be recovering from a burning.
There was more blank memory from there. The tauren felt as if something deep was missing, something that would have changed her whole course of thought if only she had remembered it. But there was only the feeling of warmth, a honeyed light, and a soothing voice that she could never understand the words of.
From then Yawna only remembered being overpowered by the undead. She was sure they were Thralk's men for she could feel his influence in their minds. Thralk might not be consciously in their minds but he certainly had left his imprint.
Yawna had been regarded with much interest by the soldiers. She fit the description of what their master had said, a young tauren mistress with a black, cow-spot pattern and a broken horn. But unlike what Thralk had said of her being peaceful and calm was missing, she was mad and half starved so that when they found her she yelled and screamed.
But two days after the tauren had been placed in one of the pens in the center of camp (a number of other villains penned around her in similar cages) it was decided that Thralk had to know of the finding. Some were skeptical, if it was not Yawna then the squadron would suffer severe punishment. But if it was Yawna and Thralk was not alerted to the possibility then the punishment would be tripled or quadrupled or worse. Thralk was not a patient man.
So in present time the tauren was huddled protectively through the bars over the bodies of three children soon corpses.
"How far we'd run," Toni said softly, "But we can't Yawna. Don't take it on yourself, it's not like you're responsible for Thralk." The words bit into the tauren's heart as the human child uttered them, his grip needing and strong as he clutched Yawna's arm. It was her fault, she was responsible for Thralk in her own mind.
"Eh hem." The guard above the cage cleared his throat. Even after he did so he felt wrong. It was bad enough the tauren was so likable and peaceful now that she was sane again. But the children sacrificed every full moon to the wolf (twelve each round moon's eye) were of his own race as well. Undead were not spared Thralk's butchery.
The children looked up, fear suddenly lighted in their eyes. Yawna looked up too through the bars of her iron cage. The guard cringed away from that gaze so full of forgiveness and understanding. He couldn't stand the fear he installed in children much less the fact that the tauren actually forgave him for doing so.
"They're… not supposed to be here." It was simple and clear but the children still didn't seem to grasp this. They looked at him as if he were ripping them from the arms of their mother. Technically no, but to these orphans Yawna was the only mother they had and wanted.
Alfor, the undead boy, narrowed hate filled eyes at the soldier suddenly. He snarled, turning away from the soldier and burying his childish tears into Yawna's fur. The tauren shushed him with cooing remarks and sighed softly.
To the guard this was enough. Mekora had always wanted to be a savior to his people. The undead were his only priority, it seemed, but when Thralk came along promising glory for the pure undead and slipping his silky words into the minds of the Forsaken Mekora had gladly joined. To see a child look up at him with anything other than hapless adoration of a hero in his eyes was unbearable.
"Just a few minutes. I'm sticking out my neck here so be quiet about it." Mekora finally managed to snarl. Yawna nodded, whispering 'bless you' softly before turning back to the small charges.
"Mommy." Milla said softly, "We have to go if the soldier says so. We don't want to get you hurt." The two boys nodded in agreement. Alfor snorted though as if he couldn't stand the thought of the older undead above him as a soldier.
"Then be strong," Yawna drew them close one last time before letting them go, "You are far braver than I could ever be. Have hope for the future, my children. By some miracle of chance you'll live to see it."
When the children had tottered off Yawna sighed leaning back on her feet and sitting cross-legged on the cold floor of her iron cave. Mekora was at ease once more, the tension of worry settled as a knot in his back dripped down and away somewhere to wait till it was once more allowed to resurface.
"It's a shame, really." The tauren was crying, Mekora could hear it in her voice, "Why children? Why not the hardened soldiers, the waiting mothers, the strong leaders. Why kill children? They are the essence of innocence. They have sinned not to deserve death."
"I know what you mean." The soldier slowly slid down the side of the iron bars until his back was resting comfortably against the cage and his feet stretched out before him, "Did you see the way he looked at me."
"You'll forget soon," Yawna replied, "They always forget you know. Soldiers soon forget the thrashing battle, the dying men, and the screaming children. It is always replaced with the romance and heroism of war. Charging cavalry and the honor of returning home with the title of sergeant or colonel on your back, eh?"
"War is not romantic." Mekora spit as he shifted his spear so it sat across his lap. Behind him he heard the tauren huntress grunt an affirmation of this.
"What makes you so special anyhow?" Mekora suddenly demanded as he turned his face to the tauren. She looked taken back for a moment, her eyes haunted and her teeth clenches. Suddenly she smiled, her face lighted up with the warmth that this simple gesture seemed to produce.
"I can't see you killing any of Thralk's favored men or stealing goods. I can't imagine you killing anyone for that matter."
"No, no you probably can't because I never have." Yawna chuckled as Mekora's eyes widened, "Don't look so surprised. It's not always kill or be killed you know. No, I haven't upset Thralk through any violence. The truth is he fears me because we share the same power. His fear of me makes him believe he must kill me to become stronger."
"Same power?" Mekora requested.
"The power of knowledge." Yawna replied lifting her hand to the muddy ground, "Though we use ours very differently. Different as fire and water I'd say."
Mekora looked down at the tauren's hand in shock. From the ground underneath the tauren's fingers rose small muddy shapes. Soon the sand shifted to the bottom of them so that clear water could be seen. The water billowed out to take the form of tiny soldiers of opposing forces charging across a battle field and attacking each other with brutal force. As the water dissolved away Mekora finally managed to choke out words.
"You're a sorceress." he snorted finally, "Just a cheap trick."
"I wish," Yawna replied as she leaned back against the bars.
Var'Jun's throat was sore to say the very least of his riding ailments. Bruises and bumps were amongst the others. The Raptor had plowed across miles of land until at last the Wind Rider Master had shown up at the area around Trisfal Glades. The Raptor had to be left there as Var'Jun took the special Wyvern prepared for him to the borders of Elwynn forest.
After thanking the gracious orc for the use of his wyvern the troll was off again. It felt strange, this traveling lifestyle that he used to spend in the company of Gwyn, Kat, and Yawna now spent alone. It was no wonder the troll soon craved any sort of contact with a living being.
That was soon what he got.
Var'Jun sniffed the air, his nose testing the thick wind that smelt of vegetation, old water, and burnt wood. His nose cringed at the last smell that he sensed, the pungent smell of blood in large amounts.
"Sickening," Var'Jun mumbled to himself. His sword was already drawn, the broad blade shimmering and glittering in the half sun cloaked by the trees' shade. The troll sniffed the air again to test the direction of the wind and where the blood could be coming from. Determining the point the troll's path was set.
Var'Jun made his way through the forest in record time. He was moving quickly, taking no time to cover his tracks or cloak the noise he was making. Soon he hoped to reach the Holocaust campsite where he could work out his negotiations.
Var'Jun winced back as his heavy step produced a large crunching noise. The shard of whatever he had stepped upon pierced through his custom leather boots and almost drew blood from the troll's thick feet. This wasn't as startling as what the troll had stumbled upon though.
The warrior had entered a clearing of sorts. Dark, blackened soil was a hard coating over the ground and if there had been trees growing from it there wasn't anymore. The plants around were withered and dry from lack of water and exposure to extreme heat. The air was tinged with the caustic scent of burnt flesh. But what really worried Var'Jun were the bones.
Everywhere the skulls and spines and femurs of skeletons scattered the ebony ashes. They were not full sized skulls, but the grinning pates of young children. Some were those of undead youths while others were tauren or human or night elf, dwarf, gnome, troll, orcs. All had been burnt and scorched with some great conflagration and strewn about so that they peppered the dirt. Var'Jun had stumbled on one of the sacrificing grounds of the Holocaust.
Var'Jun fought back a bout of Fury that threatened to conceal him. He saw red for a few moments, the rouge light smothering his sight and bringing a growl hissing to his lips. But the troll steadied himself, it would be no help to lose control now.
As a prince of the Darkspear tribe he had been trained all his life to hold back the Fury when it was at its fullest. This was a minor attack, no one had succeeded in holding back a major attack of Fury. The only was to break a major attack of Fury was to stop all, to die. Most royals died that way.
"Gods help me." Var'Jun hissed before stepping through the burnt out area. His feet were measured so that his steps whisked around and away from the tiny, grinning skulls.
"You there," A new voice snarled. It was undead for sure, the obvious accent of the rotting mouth unable to curl around words meant to be spoken with full lips.
"Halt where you are and drop you sword."
Var'Jun did as complied. He was smiling like a banshee, his teeth glinting in the light of the hooded sun. His broad sword clunked to the ground and shattered a few skulls and spines. He couldn't help but wince at that.
"Hello brothah," polished as he was Var'Jun couldn't keep the troll accent from his speech in some parts, "Strange place, eh?"
"Quiet," this was a new voice announcing that this was probably a Holocaust patrol, "Don't move a muscle now because we have you targeted and we wouldn't want to lose a prisoner."
"Waita moment, brothah, just getting' sumtin' from meh pocket." Var'Jun heavily laced his words with the troll accent while putting on a goofy smile, "Meh muddah tells meh to wear thisa when in your here areas, eh?" The troll prince still wore his smile as he pulled the green-stoned ring from his pocket and slipped it on to a spidery finger.
"Now den, yous continue."
The undead smiled to each other. This was a troll, sure, a fiery warrior with cunning and swiftness to match the Raptors the rode. But this was one of the happy-go-lucky types of trolls. And what more, this was the prince of the Darkspear tribe. The undead had heard that the prince had run off to live as a vagabond away from the shame of his people, no wonder they had shamed him. The prince was the definition of the easy going troll.
"Raise your hands where we can see them." the lead of the patrol growled. It was only two undead on this patrol, one priest and one rogue. The priest was the brawn of the pair, his large muscles almost burst through the shirt he was wearing and his bulging arms were like coiled steel as his hands gripped the troll prince.
"No need tah be hasty now mahn. I ain't got nothin' on meh." Var'Jun retained his too-broad smile even after the undead priest wrenched his hands behind his back and forced the troll to straighten.
"Mekora, c'mere and hold him still while I search him." The priest snarled as the rogue came closer, aiming a well-placed kick at the undead's shins and thrusting Var'Jun's hands into the hapless soldiers.
"You go so slow." the priest growled while patting Var'Jun's leather vest for any concealed weapons. The troll caught Mekora, the unfortunate rogue, giving him a weird look and the lanky troll warrior stuck his tongue out at him.
"This is not something one man should be doing to another man." Var'Jun remarked placidly as the priest made his way down Var'Jun's waist and coursed his hands lightly over the troll's leather pants.
"Will you shut your mouth," the priest snapped as he look back at the troll, apparently satisfied that apart from the huge broad sword the troll carried nothing. "Otherwise I'm going to carve you a new one."
"But I'd be twice as loud, brothah." Var'Jun whined, his eyes suddenly hardened and Kolkua sprang into his mind, "No one likes bein' touched against their will bya undead scumbag, eh man?" The undead wrinkled his nose.
"You know more than you're letting on."
"Nope, justa walkin' here lookin' for Thralk and waddah yah know I got all sortsa undead around here touchin' me. Strange happenins for sure." Var'Jun sighed mellowly as the undead began to drag him towards their camp.
Once again the rogue was looking at him.
"What do you want, scum?" demanded Var'Jun in a hissing voice once he was sure he was out of the earshot of the priest. The rogue pulled backwards slightly as if stung.
"You look like someone once described to me." Mekora responded.
"Remember me, I'm going to rid myself of you soon enough." Var'Jun snorted to himself as the undead pulled away. There was no time for his fake accent to be layered over his polished tones. Var'Jun had a plan to complete.
"You two got any ale?" Var'Jun requested for what must have been the third or fourth time. He had been having a joyous time driving the poor nervous rogue and the high strung priest pretty close to insanity during the trek back to camp.
"Maybe he's be more manageable drunk." Mekora offered. The undead was looking almost sick to his stomach, his face pale and his hands shaking. Mekora had been nervous ever since he had left the guard duty of the captive tauren. It was like she was constantly accusing him without saying him, berating him for his cruel master's butchery and his will to follow it. It was really not the tauren doing it but her peaceable ways that made him feel so guilty.
"He's getting nothing." the ill-tempered priest, Ruka as his name turned out to be, turned around and once again kicked at the young rogue. "You'll never get promoted. You'll be a foot soldier forever."
Mekora said nothing to this if he had an answer. Instead he threw another look at the troll and then turned his face to the ground. The rogue's fascination with him made Var'Jun want to question him badly but was unable to. Ruka was always watching.
"Thralk's oracle is here." a foot soldier ran up to Ruka, the priest's eyes narrowing. He smiled gloatingly and Var'Jun was suddenly reminded of Kolkua
"Is she now?" Ruka ground his teeth and looked back at the rogue and warrior before turning to the foot soldier again.
"Tell the oracle I will meet her in the second rank tent in the third district. I'm brining a prisoner with me."
"C'mon mahn, I'm tried. Can't we get some good ale, yah? Then we meet up with the seer broad." Var'Jun was ignored rigidly by the priest though the troll grinned madly when he saw Ruka's shoulder twitch in an anger spasm.
"Shut up prisoner." Ruka snapped back at the troll finally before smoothly turning to the foot soldier and nodding.
The troll was once again dragged through the undead camp. Soldiers and cavalry poked their heads from tents to see the crazy triple. Mekora was cringing back as best he could while still holding Var'Jun's hands behind his back and steering the troll. Ruka had taken an easier route, completely ignoring the wacky troll. Yet he was failing miserably; Var'Jun had started to sing.
His songs were loud and full of talk of alcohol and 'the lanky troll women.' Var'Jun probably would have gotten a good smack from Kat with some of the lyrics his rowdy drinking songs included but right now he was content to make as much noise as possible to upset Ruka and Mekora.
"C'mon brothah, sing with me." Var'Jun chuckled as Mekora adamantly shook his head and continued to stare at the ground.
"You'd wanta get your claws inta troll women wouldn't you now brothah?" This made Mekora blush further and continue his fascination with the dirt.
Ruka had lost his patience. He turned quickly, a dagger immediately pressed to neck. The troll froze, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down and his breath shallow so that it would not expand his throat.
"Listen up, troll." Ruka spit, "I'd kill you right here and strip your body of all it's skin while you fell just so that I could laugh. But I'm not going to, you hear? And do you know why? When Thralk comes I'm going to demand he torture you in the fires that will do all my dirty work for me."
"Understood sergeant." Ruka blinked at the sarcasm. This troll was either very brave or very stupid.
"Are you all quite done," the voice was cool and crisp. It was a little different from what Var'Jun remembered, filled out and flowing a little more smoothly now. "I've been waiting patiently for quite a while now and with all this noise I'd say you were losing control of your forces. Thralk will be most displeased."
"Gwyn?" Var'Jun choked out.
That's all people. Why is Gwyn working for Thralk, how are they going to get Yawna out, and where exactly is Kat? All we be answered next time!