Voodoo Child
Chapter 11 – Dazed and Confused
By Genoscythe
AN: There's more where that came from, Gan. As for who they are and what's wrong with them, you'll find out soon enough.
Zuridan Fargaze wasn't quite sure how Xan expected him to find their tauren partner with such a vague description, but as he stepped out into the Valley of Strength, it became painfully obvious. An ashen-gray tauren with shaggy black hair and crimson mail armor appeared to be dancing in front of the bank. However, this dance involved swinging a two-handed axe around over his head and shouting obscenities in Taurahe. Two wooden beer mugs were speared on his unbroken horn, and one was dangling from his axe by the handle.
Zuridan prayed this wasn't their partner. However, the words 'big', 'crazy', and 'talks to himself' all applied. Before he made it halfway down the slope, a trio of guards converged on the tauren and grabbed the axe from his hands. The tauren gave an enraged moo and flung himself at the nearest guard, who sidestepped and brought the haft of his own axe down on the shaman's head.
Not sure what to do as the guards hauled off a dangerous weapon and an unconscious tauren that so happened to be one of his new teammates, Zuridan looked about for some divine intervention. As usual, he was disappointed.
Xan was pleasantly surprised by the rogue trainer's sunny demeanor. After explaining himself, Xan was given a list of techniques to train in. This brought with it a slight confusion, but the kind smile sitting on the orc's rugged features swept away all misgivings.
"Can' I jus' do it all?" Xan asked, handing back the scroll.
"Of course, if you can pay for it."
Xan's smile cracked. "I gotta pay for dis?"
The trainer's smile kept on shining. "Naturally. If I were to teach you everything on that list, it would cost you..." he paused to make the calculations. "Five gold, at the least."
The Cleft of Shadows seemed to drop in temperature just then. "I don' have five gold."
All at once, the rogue trainer's mood did an about-face. His smile flipped around, his hands gripped two of the daggers at his hips, and his eyes seemed to light on fire. "Then pick ones you can pay for! It's common sense, damn it!"
Xan hastily took the scroll back and looked down the list. His own eyes lit up when he saw the words "dual-wield" near the bottom of the list. Fifty silver. "I'll take dat," he said hastily.
The trainer seemed smug. "Ah, perfect. This is a fun one."
Xan felt sweat break out on his brow. What was fun for someone else was invariably not fun for him.
"Now, for your first task..." The trainer put a meaty fist to his chin, as if in contemplation. "You must travel to the herbalist and buy us some tea. Thistle tea, preferably."
"What's dat got to – "
"Xan'Jin..." The orc intercepted him, his tone becoming sagely. "That has everything to do with your training."
"Da herbalist be ten steps down da road. Why can' you buy it yourself?"
"Just get my damn tea."
Trailing the guards was neither the smartest nor the most well-conceived plan Zuridan had ever hatched, but in the end it paid off. On the bright side, he had found the hidden Orgrimmar Penitentiary. On the darker side, he had no idea where he was or how to leave. He guessed they were on the opposite side of the mountain that served as the Horde capital's backbone, as they had been walking up a narrow corkscrew pathway until the sun was at their backs.
From behind a barely-concealing rock, Zuridan watched the guards dump their payload at the mouth of a cave. The cavern must have been at an incline, for the tauren soon slipped down into darkness. The guards turned about lazily, and Zuridan immediately flung out a hand in preparation for an Immolate spell. However, he soon realized what it would be like explaining to the guards why he tried to light them on fire, so he lowered his hand again.
To Zuridan's surprise, the guards gave him a slight nod as they trudged by. Either the location of the penitentiary wasn't as big a secret as he thought, or they were just mind-bogglingly apathetic. Knowing the guards of Orgrimmar, Zuridan had to assume the latter.
Sucking in a breath, Zuridan crept to the entrance of the cave. He could just barely make out stairs beneath his feet, so he decided to trust in faith and began descending. Much like the Cleft of Shadows, the quality of the air changed instantaneously. The darkness seemed impenetrable, the overwhelming stench of hopelessness weighing down the atmosphere. There was no doubt that this was a prison.
Zuridan caught the slightest glimpse of a retreating form in the darkness beyond, but he was halted by the sudden appearance of the jailer. He was a very odd-looking orc; unusually short and knobby, with glittering crimson eyes and thick jaws.
"Oi! What youz be in for?" The jailer bellowed immediately in an unfamiliar accent.
"Ah...I..." Zuridan stuttered, caught off-guard by the pervading weirdness of the situation. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. He's a big tauren, just got hauled in here."
"Da big boy?" The orc asked, jerking his thumb backward. " 'E'z propty of da Orgrmmar Penitentry. Nuthin' youz can do 'bout it, mate."
"I'm sure there is," Zuridan replied in a calm, convincing tone. "I am Zuridan Fargaze."
"Youz tinkin' youz one a da big shotz, eh?" The orc grunted repeatedly, sounding almost like a laugh. "Well I neva heard o' ya. Get lost!"
"How about Zureetha Fargaze?" Zuridan attempted with a grimace.
The orc's eyes immediately lit up. "Mummy! Yea, I heard o' 'er. She taugh' us how ta torture people but good."
"Knew it..." Zuridan muttered. Aloud, he said "Well, I'm her brother. Will you let me in now?"
The orc let out a hacking cough. "Mebbe. Whyz you need ta see 'im?"
"I was hoping to release him."
Another grunting laugh. "Gotta wait till da boyz is done wit him."
"...who?"
"We'z got da right to all da torture we can handle."
"All you can handle? What about the prisoners?"
"What about 'em?" The orc replied fiendishly. "I'll let ya trough, but just cuz you know Mummy. You can take yer tauren boy when Gimpy's done wit 'im."
Zuridan decided not to ask about Gimpy. Instead, he opted to hurry past the disturbing orc and through the gate behind him. As he rushed through the dank corridor, he noticed that none of the cells contained living organisms. They showed signs of recent abuse; far more recent than their last breath. Zuridan shuddered and nearly bowled over a knobby form barring his path.
The orc was even smaller than the jailer, and his stance was uneven. Zuridan soon found this was because his right leg was made entirely of metal plates, pistons and gears. That could only mean two things: One, he had found Gimpy. Two, he had found the tauren.
It appeared, though Zuridan refused to believe it, that Gimpy was dangling a dead fish in front of the bars, and the tauren inside was trying desperately to fit his massive fingers through and grab the fish. For what purpose the tauren wanted the fish, Zuridan did not dwell on. Instead, he grabbed Gimpy by the shoulder and spun him about.
"Open the door," he commanded with a commanding air.
"Who'z you bein'?" Gimpy articulated, stuffing the fish into his pants.
"I'm 'bein' here for the tauren."
"Not till I'z done wit da fish," the orc cackled, pulling the dead marine animal back out and slipping it through the bars. The tauren inside grappled feebly for it, and managed to wrap two meaty fingers around it. Gimpy merely pulled the fish out of his grasp and proceeded to slap his hands with it. From the expression on his face, it seemed as if this was the extent of Gimpy's daily pleasure.
"This is bullshit…" Zuridan growled, reaching out and clamping a hand down on Gimpy's wrist. With one deft bite, the crippled orc was separated from his arm, while the arm itself refused to be separated from the fish. Zuridan kicked the screaming orc onto the ground, searching his grimy belt tentatively for a set of keys.
Within moments, the tauren was freed. Freed would be a relative term, since he merely sat inside his cell, eyes as big as saucers.
"Zuridan Fargaze," Zuridan said by way of greeting.
The tauren gave his reply after a great deal of consideration.
"Argam Stonehoof."
"Well? Coming?"
"Are you a miracle?"
The question caught Zuridan completely off-guard, and it took him a few seconds for his wit to re-boot.
"Yeah, I'm Medivh in disguise. Now will you come with me?"
Argam nodded reverently. "Sure thing, Mr. Oracle."
Zuridan led the monstrously stupid tauren out into the corridor, stopping only to pick up Gimpy's arm so he could eat it later. The orc himself was still writhing on the floor, spewing enough blood to drown a pair of nearby rodents.
As they passed the Jailer, Zuridan stopped again. "What's your name?" He queried.
"Why youz askin'?"
"I have a feeling I'll be coming back."
The orc eyed him strangely. "Itz Dakka."
"Alright. Same time next week, then?" he joked. Zuridan hoped to Hellscream's ghost that it would remain so.
"Well, Xan…I'm pleased to tell you something." The rogue trainer leaned forward, spilling some thistle tea in the process. "You totally freakin' failed. I dunno, maybe you're like…on drugs or something. That was the most…" The orc trailed off. "Uh…"
"Pathetic?" Xan offered, downing another cup of thistle tea.
"YEAH! That's it! What you said."
"Where'd you get dis tea, mon?" Xan asked the table.
"Dude…dude, dude, dude. You got it. I dunno, ask yourself or something."
"I tried, mon. He ain' home."
The trainer suddenly burst out laughing, as if Xan had created the most hilarious sentence possibly conceived within the Orcish language. "Well…looks like this was a waste of time and money. No refunds, dude."
"Oh, I get it," Xan started indignantly. "You take my money, you take my drug tea, now I ain' got nothin'."
"Alright, y'know…since I'm feeling so happy right now, I'll let you keep the tea."
"We jus' finished it."
"Good. Now get the hell outta here."
Xan stumbled out of the Cleft of Shadow, not feeling entirely vindicated, but at the same time not feeling particularly cheated either. Everything was so colorful, it hardly seemed to matter. He made his way toward what he thought was the herbalist, only to trip and fall into the arms of an Orgrimmar guard.
"Oh, hell no. I'm not doing that again…" Someone familiar growled nearby, though Xan couldn't quite place the voice. One muffled discussion later, and Xan was dropped unceremoniously to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the guard's feet shuffling away and wondered what kind of miracle had caused him to do so. Soon enough, the miracle would be staring him in the face.
"'Sup mon," Xan muttered, not quite looking at Zuridan but not necessarily looking away.
"Have fun with the rogue trainer?"
"Bes' time o' my life, mon."
"Xan, I caught a fish!" Argam interrupted loudly.
"This isn't the tauren you were talking about, is he?" Zuridan continued undaunted.
"Migh' be…" Xan grumbled in reply. "He's pink, right?" The next and last thing Xan saw was a massive, wet gray slab arcing toward his head.
When Xan's eyes decided to wake him up, he found his face slimy and reeking with a vaguely fishy odor. He also found that he was in a cramped wooden cabin, and that cramped wooden cabin was made even more cramped with the addition of an extra-large tauren and an extra-tall orc. He also found that the cabin was rocking violently.
"Huh?" Xan spat, rolling over and falling from a woolen hammock. "Where da hell…?"
"Zeppelin," Zuridan grunted. "Your friend Argam told me you were trying to get to Undercity."
This roused Xan rather quickly. "Wait, what about all da beer? Did you bring it?"
"Drank it all," Argam muttered absent-mindedly, twirling his fish in-between two fingers. Xan was about to bellow out the worst swear he could think of, but before he did, he decided to check and see if Baron Longshore's hat was still on his skull. Feeling the velvety leather under his fingers calmed his nerves considerably, and he reconsidered waking the rest of the ship.
"How much money you got?" Xan asked, turning to Zuridan.
"Enough," Zuridan offered, pulling a bag of coins from his robe and tossing it to the troll.
"Sweet," Xan hissed, rifling through the gold and silver coins. "I blew all my money on da freakin' trainer."
"Oh yeah, that reminds me…" Zuridan felt for something next to him, and held out an envelope. "Someone told me to give this to you." Xan took it and popped off the wax seal, immediately knowing who it was from. The wax was molded into a dagger, and there was only one group Xan knew of that thrived on such melodrama.
I'm terribly sorry about the incident this afternoon. I can assure you, that was not thistle tea, and that was probably not an herbalist that you got the tea from. No matter. I'll let you take the lesson again, free of charge. Xan made ready to yelp with joy, but just then the letter unfolded and revealed another paragraph that made his blood curdle.
On one condition. It has come to my attention that our deep cover agent in the Venture Company has uncovered something useful to our cause. It's a new type of poison, and it's being kept at the top of a tower somewhere in the northern Barrens. If you can rendezvous with our agent, break into the tower, kill the guard and steal the highly contagious poison, you can have your free lesson. Good hunting!
"Wit love…" Xan muttered, disbelieving. "Da Shattered Hand." Here he was, hundreds of feet in the air and halfway between two continents, with a relatively harmless but decidedly less lucrative quest going one way, and a suicide mission with a juicy reward in the opposite direction.
"What is it?" Zuridan asked.
"Nothin'…" Xan replied wistfully. "Nothin' at all."
End of chapter 11