Voodoo Child
Chapter 24 – Hail to the Thief, part 1
By Genoscythe
AN: This was going to be all one chapter, but I realized the entire second half is a chapter in itself, so I'll get this out now and part will be out shortly.
It was impossible to tell how many days had gone by in the cell for Argam and Zuridan, but it was of no consequence because Argam never kept track of days to begin with. The orc was in a corner, gnawing on the wall, and the tauren was standing in exactly the spot the night elves had dumped him in roughly three weeks ago.
The jailers seemed unreasonably happy, especially after losing so much gold to the janitor (who was still winning bets because Zuridan started eating the wall and Argam never moved). They were all clattering wooden mugs of alcohol together, drinking and singing songs. Above, the same general routine could be heard in the town square.
Argam hoped they were all celebrating the release of their captives. Releasing was nice. He had a terrible cramp in his knees, and he was getting tired of sleeping upright.
Suddenly, a Sentinel appeared at the foot of the stairwell to their right. She barked something in elvish, beckoning up the stairs and toward the commotion on the surface. Hastily, the jailers all dropped their mugs and ran, leaving the two Horde soldiers completely unsupervised.
Argam looked intently at a mug that had landed against the bars. The shimmery liquid inside looked inviting.
"Drink me, you wankmongering twatfish," said the beer stein.
"Uncle Itherian, you're alive!"
"I've been dead for hundreds of years, apparently just before my species started inbreeding."
"But…I can't reach it."
"Why the hell not? It couldn't be any easier to get!"
"If I move, I might die."
"If you don't move, you will definitely die. They're holding an execution for Xan'Jin up above, and you'll be next."
"Oh, right!" Argam exclaimed, rushing forward and grabbing the beer mug's handle. "I forgot about Xan."
"Just drink it."
Through the bars, Argam managed to get most of the alcohol in his mouth, but most was more than enough. This was no ordinary alcohol. This was night elf alcohol, brewed for much more heavyweight beings (but not literally, because never in history has there been a fat elf) than a young tauren. Instantly, Argam was out of commission, and Itherian Stonehoof rose from the depths of his consciousness to take the reins. Conducting Argam's body like a puppet on strings, he flung out his hands and the jail cell blew wide open in a concussion of green energy.
The pent-up mana provided by the moonwell residue, combined with the pent-up exasperation Itherian felt toward young people these days, amplified the Earth Shock by many times its ordinary power. As such, the entire bunker shook violently and sent the deafening boom to echo up the stairs, out onto the execution grounds.
Two days ago…
Xan'Jin strummed listlessly on the large guitar Meridia had left on his doorstep. He found it odd that she didn't come in to talk to him, and instead merely knocked on the door and ran before he could even catch sight of her. Maybe she was nervous, being in his presence after he wowed her with that song that he couldn't remember for the life of him.
He then began playing a tune that, if he could recall them, would go perfectly with the lyrics he had sung a week ago. Hindrex recalled them, and sitting on the windowsill looking out at the town, he began changing the guitar tabs he had written with Dillon. Astonishingly, the troll's were much better.
Back in the watchtower, Xan's musical escape ground to a halt as a familiar, hysterical voice cut through the morning air. Perched just outside of view, Hindrex groaned.
"She's poisoning your minds! You think this is all fun and games? You think this is gonna last forever? Nobody can live like this!"
It was Meridia, and she was completely blowing her cover. Being largely ignored by the general population of Astranaar, Xan assumed their only chance of survival was her anonymity. He put down the guitar and flung open a window. It made a soft thunking noise, and the wall seemed to moan in agony, but he could hardly be bothered with that now.
Meridia was now holding up some very obscene hand signals. "Down with the system! Down with 'Mother' Luna!" Already, a small crowd of people had gathered around her, radiating enough righteous indignation to melt a stick of butter. Some were brandishing weapons, forcing her to back up. "You know what? Forget it! I'm no Lieutenant! I have no power, and neither do you! Open your eyes, you're being herded like sheep!" Angrily, she threw her Lieutenant's insignia at the nearest night elf. He drew a sword and jabbed at her. Xan flinched, accidentally elbowing the window and knocking it back against whatever was soft and moaning in quiet anguish.
"A sheep with a sword in its mouth is still just a sheep!" She turned the blade away with the palm of her hand, decking the elf with her other fist. "You know what?" Meridia repeated. "You can all consider me a member of the Horde now. Hell, I look the part!" At this, she ripped off her face mask and flung back the hood. More jeering, raising to a vicious level of intensity.
Now the Sentinels were getting involved, circling Meridia and blocking off the furious crowd. Xan desperately wanted to throw the guitar at them, and he was about to until a whisper from behind the window said "Please god, that's my guitar…" Deciding that his conscience had finally returned, he felt he should at least heed its words now.
The Sentinels knocked Meridia to the ground, locking a pair of strange handcuffs around her wrists. They chattered quickly, then began dragging her to the tower. Xan sighed, shook his head, closed the window, and wondered what it was that subsequently fell off the windowsill. It was shaped like a human, screamed like a human, and made an ungraceful splash into a reflection pool like a human. But why would a human be listening to him play the guitar…?
Xan'Jin's thoughts were interrupted by the banging of the door and the dumping of Meridia's limp form onto the floor.
"Bur," one of the Sentinels chuckled before slamming and locking the door on both of them. Xan rushed to Meridia, lifting her head up for examination. In subduing her, the Sentinels had left a nasty gash on Meridia's forehead, and without thinking Xan pricked his finger on one of his tusks, smearing a bit of his blood on the cut.
"What the hell…" Meridia muttered as he finished, shaking her head and flopping back onto the ground. "What did you just put on my head?"
"Troll's blood. Fo' healin'."
"Oh…" Her surprise melted into some of the most sincere gratitude Xan had ever heard. "Thank you."
"Yeah…" Xan muttered, unceremoniously flipping her onto her chest so he could examine the handcuffs. She grunted at the sudden drop, but quickly eased.
"I never thought someone like you would shed your own blood for someone else."
"I know. Still can' figure out why I did it." He jerked on the handcuffs, found that they refused to move. "Da hell? I can' undo these."
"They're enchanted," Meridia informed him. "Wow, the cut's better already."
"Should be."
"Can you at least prop me up on the couch?"
"Gimme a sec."
"Xan…grab lower, please."
"Oh! I didn'…"
"I understand. I'll let you know when you can touch those."
"I didn' mean – "
"I know. I did."
Finally, Xan had managed to get Meridia in a position on the couch that prevented her from sliding off. He sat on the opposite end, eaten up with the knowledge that he had something very important to ask her, but at the sudden, unexplainable interaction between them, he had completely forgotten.
Then, Meridia's Lieutenant insignia clanked violently against the window and Xan remembered.
"Why'd joo blow up like dat?"
"It's all part of the plan, silly."
"Wha' plan? Joo neva told me."
"Right. Sorry. Okay, my plan is…we get executed together."
Xan couldn't stop laughing. He was holding onto the hope that, somehow, Meridia was smarter, more sensible, than the kind of people he normally dealt with. She put up a good front, acting sane and all. But now it was all out in the open.
"You're not letting me finish."
"If dere ain' no aftalife, joo ain' got notin' else to say."
"Listen to me! God, if my hands weren't cuffed, I'd slap you."
"Listenin'."
"Okay. We get executed, and then a human I know – he's a priest – will revive us and keep us hidden until it's safe to come out."
"When's dat?"
"Whenever they start dying from the tainted water, or whenever they go get themselves killed at Splintertree Post."
"How 'bout my friends?"
"Likely going to be executed right after us. I assume Cygnus is going to try and save them, too."
"So how come joo gettin' yaself executed with us?"
"Because I want out of this, too. If I don't escape with you, they'll force me to attack Splintertree with them. I don't want to kill any Horde almost as much as I don't want to get slaughtered by them."
"Joo really tink we be dat much betta, huh?"
"No," Meridia admitted, flushing purple. "In all honesty, Splintertree would probably be wiped out under normal circumstances. However, when the Astranaar Sentinels get there and try to fight, they'll find out just how malnutrition affects a combat unit. That, and they've lost all sense of tactics and leadership but for Luna's word."
"Was that my name I heard, Lieutenant?" The door unlocked, and the pale white night elf strode in. "I should have known you were up to something, really. If only I had seen what was under that hood…"
"What do you want?" Meridia growled. Xan didn't know what she was saying anymore, but he was pretty damn intimidated anyway.
"I was planning on interrogating the troll today," Luna began, circling around the couch like a shark. "But since he doesn't actually know anything about Splintertree Post, as you have shown me by displaying your true allegiance a few moments ago, I'm just here to tell you both that you'll be executed in two days to kick off our first annual Kill Everything parade."
"Me?" Meridia cried, with convincing desperation. "Why me? I haven't really done anything…!"
"Except lie to your commanding officer – "
"You're not my commanding officer! If High Command had any idea about what you've done to a thriving trade center, they'd execute you!"
"But they don't," Luna countered. "And they never will if I bring 'em a big sack of Horde heads to distract them."
"She say sometin' 'bout me?" Xan asked.
"Let me do the talking," Meridia hissed. "And you'll bring them nothing but a big casualty report. Luna, Captain, have you ever heard of malnutrition?"
"I don't see how – "
"Or did anybody tell you when you first barged in here that the lake around Astranaar is corrupted? Demons use it for drinking water."
"What demons?"
"The ones in the forest. Look out the window – no, over the wall."
"Oh, hey! That's new. You think, if we mounted one of those little dog things onto a ballista…"
"No. Forget the demons. The point is, you're obviously motivated by blind revenge, you know how to push people's buttons but not how to command, and you're going to bring a whole lot of people down with you."
"A whole lot of Horde people, right?"
"No. A whole lot of our people."
Luna finally caught the gist of the conversation, and she colored. "Enough! I didn't come up here to hear a lecture!" She turned about, strode to the door, stopped. "You know when the execution is. Spend your time wisely." And with that, she was gone.
Xan stood as silence returned to the room. "I didn' catch any o' dat. Joo gonna explain?"
Meridia blew a lock of red hair out of her glimmering eyes, easing back into the couch. "Let me hear what you've been working on with that guitar."
Present day (figuratively)…
Through Argam Stonehoof's nostrils, Itherian smelled the first whiff of fresh air he'd had in weeks. Oddly, it smelled a little like alcohol, elvish food and mob mentality. Yes, of course ancestral spirits can smell mob mentality. They're ancestral.
Ducking behind an errant stone, Argam's eyes followed the scent to the center of the town. A massive bonfire billowed smoke into the tree branches above, which were long vacated by singing birds and frolicking squirrels so the nature-conscious elves, even in their homicidal state, had not to worry about them. This did not matter to Itherian Stonehoof.
What mattered was the gallows erected behind the bonfire. An obviously hastily-constructed platform, it was sparse for a night elf contraption. Only two poles, two simple nooses, and two trapdoors. Conveniently, two figures now stood on it, displayed to all the elves (and the few humans) eating around the bonfire. One was definitely Xan'Jin – as the lanky arms and pirate hat would attest, but from this distance it looked like another troll was standing next to him.
I'd ask you if we could talk face to face, a voice suddenly cut into Itherian's mind, almost like he were being contacted by another spirit. But since your face is rotting six feet underground, please allow me to continue with telepathy.
Are you one of the elves? Itherian asked, following the spectral connection back to its source. He was surprised to find that the speaker was sitting just on the other side of his hiding spot.
No. I am a human priest and my name is Vismund Cygnus. I have been observing you, your brother, and the poor host you've been fighting over. Moradon Stonehoof is your brother, did I judge correctly?
Itherian did not immediately respond. This one knew much, for a human. He knew how to use telepathy for more than a silent, universal language anyway.
Why don't you seem hostile? Itherian asked.
WHY AREN'T YOU KILLING HIM YET? Moradon raged from the depths of Argam's fragmented intelligence.
Ask him if he knows where my fish is, Argam himself suggested. As always, Itherian ignored them both.
I am not hostile, Cygnus continued, unaware of the internal exchange. This is because, when you know as much as I do, hostility is as futile as most other primal urges. I'm not suggesting that I do not believe in hostility, because that will make me a hypocrite in a few minutes. I am simply saying that hostility based on something as flimsy as race and origins is a useless gesture.
Okay, shut up. I don't think you realize what a dangerous position I'm in. Get to the point.
You're in no danger because all the Sentinels are getting ready to watch the show, but I'll get to the point anyway. I sympathize with you, and especially with the half-troll, half-night elf woman about to be hung in the town square. I was planning on taking their bodies and reviving them after the execution, but now that you and the warlock are free, that may not be necessary.
Zuridan is somewhat incapacitated, but I'm sure we can coax him out of the cell if we tell him there's people to feed on out here.
Nevertheless, I sense much power in you.
I have a lifetime's worth of spells and experience, a supersaturated mana reserve, and I still can't take on all those Alliance alone. However…A thought occurred to Itherian, one he simultaneously hated and feared. Of course, there wasn't much choice. I will enlist the help of my brother. We can share this body, but I need a weapon first. Where did the night elves take my…fishblade?
The fish was rotten. They threw it away. In fact, most of your weapons were in such a sorry state that they were melted down into statues of Captain Luna. She did keep the troll's sword, but she most likely has it with her.
The wingblade would have been suitable…
The armory is probably emptied out, too. They're planning to attack Splintertree Post right after this.
Argam's gaze was suddenly pulled upward toward a nearby watchtower, influenced by Moradon's spirit. On the windowsill, a large blunt object sat longingly.
"Is that…a guitar?" Itherian whispered aloud.
I saw Jimmy Hindrex give it to the troll, Cygnus explained. You consider that a weapon?
"Yes. It'll do." While Itherian snuck across the road as stealthily as an overgrown tauren can, it appeared the elves were finished eating their emergency 'feast' rations. He hurried up the stairs, trying not to make them creak any more than they had to.
Knocking open the door, Itherian was surprised to find a Sentinel standing at the far end of the room. He dove for the guitar as she turned around, a difficult feat for such a large mass to accomplish. Grabbing the neck, he relinquished a bit of his control to Moradon, who swung it around to stop a falling sword.
The blade lodged in the side of the guitar, and Moradon spun it over. The elf, however, refused to let go, and she was pulled toward the window. Casually, Moradon whacked her as she stumbled past, sending her out the window and into the audience below.
"I immediately regret not bringing Zuridan," Itherian muttered as at least fifty angry voices rose toward the watchtower.
End
AN: Just like to point out that using troll's blood for healing was not my idea, and even though I may have eventually thought of it myself, I give credit to Evelynn since her story was my inspiration for that section.