Worries and Strange Thoughts

Fentulk blinked stupidly as the Draenei woman cut his bonds. It didn't seem real; even Joanne's grateful thanks, spoken through her tears as she clung about his neck, did not seem real. In a daze, he threw his arms about Joanne and held her close, and did not care that his own tears could not be checked.

Standing over them, Obadei took a deep breath and let it out slowly. In your memory, Sedai, he thought. Turning to the female, he said in their tongue, "What became of their mount, Vanura?"

"It was a war wolf, Anchorite Obadei," she replied, inclining her head respectfully. "It did battle in the Orc's defense. We slew it."

"They shall ride yours," he said sternly, "in recompense. They are to go free. Assemble an escort. They are to be taken to Cenarion Refuge. I trust... from there, they may find passage on to Nagrand."

"Yes... sir," Vanura said uncertainly, her brow pinching. "If it is not impertinent, why do we not hold him, at least? He is Mag'har. Surely an exchange of some sort..."

"No," Obadei growled. "I do not believe he is a soldier in this war between the Alliance and the Horde." Chuckling lightly, and feeling some of his tensions release, he added, "A warrior in such a bloody conflict would not take the enemy to wife."

Vanura's brow arched with surprise. "They are wed? She only called him friend."

The Draenei man gazed upon the Orc and the woman, their tears mingling as they held one another. He slowly shook his head. "Perhaps not at present. But soon enough, I expect."

"I cannot imagine it," Vanura replied. "They guard their blood so fiercely. Would they not think mixing with humans as a taint upon the fruit of such a union?"

Obadei looked curiously at her. "How came you by such understanding of the Mag'har?"

Vanura glanced away. "I have a cousin... in Stormwind. Nadezhda. She has made a study of Orcs. They are... fascinating to her." Sighing, she added in an undertone, "It is quite embarrassing."

Amused, Obadei patted her shoulder. "Think no more on it. Carry out your duties. The night will come swiftly, and we must see them to Zangarmarsh before the ravagers become restless."

Nodding, Vanura trotted off to gather a few more guards for the trip.

Still slightly bewildered by the Draenei's change of heart, Fentulk sat stiffly atop the borrowed elekk, his arms protectively around Joanne in front of him, the reins held tightly in his fists. On either side, and before as well as to the rear, were Draenei on equally imposing elekk. He couldn't help worrying that this was a dream; that he'd been slain as expected, and he was journeying to the ancestors, not his home. That Joanne was with him in this dream filled him with remorse as well as joy. She should not have had to die for him, but if she did, he was glad they made this journey together.

Except it could not be a dream. The red sand kicked up beneath the beasts' feet burned his throat; the setting sun burned his eyes. Surely in death these things would not bother him. So he must not be dead.

Joanne still trembled, for the elekk was unfamiliar and fearsome-looking. Fentulk recalled hunting one as a boy, but did not think pointing out the gore wound on his thigh would ease her fears. Perhaps later, though she had likely seen it already without recognizing what caused it. He grimaced and his cheeks darkened. She had certainly seen far more of his body than he would have liked her to see without so much as an agreement between them. His mother would be furious.

Once clear of the pass between several rocky hills, the elekk were urged into a gallop down to the road leading into the marsh. The Orc couldn't help tensing, unused to the lumbering gait of the elephantine creature. He'd hunted them, never ridden them.

Due to the unexpected swiftness of the elekk across the sands, the journey was short. Within a half hour, it seemed, they were angling onto the dusty road, and not long after, the contorted brambles marking ravager nesting grounds began to appear on either side. The Draenei did not break stride or formation; the riders merely unslung their ranged weapons and readied them.

Fentulk kept his gun strapped to his back. Though he knew he was a good shot and posed no threat to the Draenei, he didn't want to make them nervous. He concentrated on keeping his and Joanne's balance on the rolling back of the elekk.

Very few ravagers dared to challenge them as they passed through the nesting grounds. Those few were quickly slain, thus serving to warn the remainder that interference with the Draenei would be dealt with. Before long, the red, arid twilight of Hellfire Peninsula gave way to blue-green humidity and startlingly tall trees of a shape Joanne had never seen before.

"Are these... mushrooms?" she gasped.

"Aye," Fentulk grinned. "We're in Zangarmarsh."

"It is so different here," she breathed, looking about her in wonder. The massive elekk were forced to go single-file across a lengthy wooden footbridge from the road through what looked to be knee-deep still water. Little islands abounded, on which grasses and strange flowers grew. And all about them were the mushroom trees, reaching so high their crowns blotted out the sky.

Before them, she saw an incongruously gnarled tree of wood, covered in what seemed to be out-of-place lichens and leaves. Ivy grew on its great trunk, and flowered purple throughout its frame. She nearly leaped from her skin when the giant tree moved.

"Greetings, revered Ancient," the lead Draenei called, and the giant slowly turned to face the approaching party.

Joanne could only stare, open-mouthed, as a face seemed to form itself from among the flora gathered more thickly at the top of the creature.

"Welcome, small ones," it said, its voice deep and ponderous. It loomed over the party as the elekk slowed to a stop, puffing from exertion. "Strange to see Draenei accompanying an Orc."

"We are escorts only," Vanura explained. "They seek passage to Nagrand."

"Indeed," the ancient replied, straightening. Its strange eyes, surrounded by purple flowers, lingered on the Orc and the human, the latter of the two pressing quite closely into the chest of the former. "Interesting. Proceed."

"Many thanks," the Draenei replied, inclining her head. Clucking her tongue,she urged her mount forward. The other elekk lurched into motion behind her at a leisurely walk.

"What are they?" Joanne whispered over her shoulder. She could not take her eyes off the huge creature, and it seemed to watch her with a probing, though inexplicably benign, intensity as they passed by.

"Ancients," Fentulk replied, and she could hear relief in his voice. "Don't know exactly what they are, for sure, but they're big tree spirits." He chuckled. "Guess that's kinda obvious, ain't it?"

"They are so... frightening, yet I do not feel fear, exactly," she said uncertainly. "Does that make sense?"

He nodded. "Yeah. That's what they do to me, too. Usually see'em with Druids and such. Get on well with Night Elves in general."

"Are they... from this place? From Draenor?"

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "They come through the Portal like everyone else. Probably 'bout shit themselves when they saw Hellfire Peninsula for the first time. Ain't nothin'... livin' there. Look to me like the sort of creatures that... that would be real upset 'bout that."

"So... creatures such as they... come from my world," she said hesitantly. Sighing, she shook her head. "Oh Fentulk, there is so little I know of my own land, my own people. All I have seen, all I've been shown, is ugliness and hate."

"Ain't all been that," Fentulk replied. "Remember them folks at Refuge Point? They was good to us. And here... that Obadei. I ain't gonna lie, I thought he was gonna kill me. He'd have every right to do that."

"It would not be right or fair, Fentulk, no matter what your... members of your race had done," she said sternly. "You are a man of peace. I am glad he recognized that."

"Likely wouldn'uh seen it if you hadn't...," he began, and clammed up. He'd felt it, surely felt it, that she loved him, hadn't he? Didn't she? Ancestors, please, he pleaded silently. Tell me I ain't dreamin' it.

"If I hadn't made such a fool of myself," Joanne finished, exasperated. "How it must have offended their ears to hear such filth. My mother would have been appalled. And quite humiliated."

"Didn't know all that 'bout your ma, and your aunt," Fentulk said gently. "You had about as much reason to kill as I did. Glad you didn't, though. Don't need blood on our hands. They'd never leave us b-..." He stopped abruptly and froze, staring ahead.

"What is it?" Joanne asked worriedly.

Shaking himself, he forced a smile. "Nothin'. Almost home. Just... think of that."

Unexpectedly, it occurred to Fentulk for the first time in all these days of running, that his captors might not have just let him leave. True, he'd not seen any evidence of pursuit, but had he actually looked?

Might they still cling to the false notion that he was part of a larger conspiracy, and follow him wherever he might lead them? Cursing his stupidity, he vowed to keep his eyes open. At least let me get her to Nagrand, he begged the Ancestors, cause I promised her that.

His thoughts were interrupted by the party's arrival at the Refuge. Fentulk had only briefly passed through the encampment once when he left Draenor, but it was the same as ever. Still populated almost entirely by Druids, with a few other sorts from both the Horde and the Alliance passing through on their journeys to other regions. It was a small oasis and quite a relief after the punishing heat and dry air of Hellfire Peninsula.

To his surprise, however, there were others besides Tauren and Night Elves among the Druids. Fentulk noted Worgen and Trolls as well. An elegant Troll woman spoke with Vanura for a few moments, then approached Fentulk and Joanne as they dismounted.

"Yuh come a long way, mon," she said gently, patting the Orc's arm. "We see yuh home, but not tonight. Yuh get some rest; ah look aftuh yuh bot'. I be Ronjaty. Come on." She smiled around her snort tusks and gestured for them to follow.

The inn was spacious and open. There were no rooms, just rows of beds set dormitory style along the walls.

"Vanura tol' me yuh goin' tuh Garadar," Ronjaty said conversationally as she led them to a pair of beds side by side. "Ah tink yuh need a flight dere. Ain' gonna be a short walk."

Dropping his pack next to one of the beds, Fentulk shook his head. "We can't... I mean, we..." He faltered and bowed his head.

"We prefer to walk," Joanne supplied, touching the Orc's arm reassuringly. He smiled at her gratefully.

Ronjaty looked from one to the other and smiled. "Nah, mon. Yuh get yuhself home quick. You and yuh lady. Ah take care'uh duh wyvern. Now get yuhself some sleep. Yuh bot' look done in."

Derek dumped the red sand out of his boot for the fourth time in as many hours. He'd worn a hole in the bottom and it just kept filling up. Glaring askance at the always-impeccably-dressed Amarn, he scowled.

"Don't suppose you got any more bandages, eh?" he growled. Amarn gave him a withering look.

"Very few," he replied coolly. "Had you listened, you would not have had more than two ravagers upon you."

"I was hungry," Derek snapped. "The eggs are hard to come by back home."

"Difficult to acquire here as well, when you approach a nesting female with such carelessness," Amarn chided. "At least you still have your limbs."

"Hmph," Derek grumped. Only the quick application of an enchanted bandage and downing of a healing potion saved him from losing his throwing hand. Vicious little bastards.

Amarn gazed through the spy glass thoughtfully. Their quarry had dismounted before the inn at Cenarion Refuge and disappeared inside. Their 'escort' of four Draenei were already departing, on their way back to the Temple of Telhamar.

"Strange," he mused quietly.

"What's strange?" Derek muttered.

"For a man who claims allegience to the Burning Blade," Amarn noted, "and who is suspected of conspiring to assassinate the King... he certainly doesn't... carry himself as one with that sort of... baggage."

"How's that?"

Sighing, Amarn elaborated. "He has managed to talk his way out of several... delicate situations. I might have dismissed it as clever manipulation, had I not heard him speak myself." Chuckling, he continued, "Granted, those 'conversations' were somewhat different. Different setting, different context... Regardless, he didn't strike me as particularly clever. Certainly not enough to talk a load of Draenei into hauling him to Zangarmarsh."

"So?" Derek shrugged.

Casting an impatient glance at Derek, Amarn said, "You are aware of the fact that the Draenei were nearly wiped out in a genocide orchestrated by the Orcs of this world, aren't you?"

Derek blinked, startled. He'd never troubled himself about the history of his own world, much less that of Draenor. Didn't know, didn't care.

"Uh... really?"

Amarn rolled his eyes with annoyance. "Yes. Really. The Draenei are relatively peaceful people, but I promise you, if they get a hold of an Orc, he's dead. They live a long time; hundreds of years. Many of them remember fleeing from Orcs, or saw their families slaughtered by them, before the Orcs ever came to Azeroth. Ask Mishka sometime. She has nothing kind to say of Orcs, even now."

Turning his attention back to the inn, Amarn murmured, "What troubles me is that a man like Obadei, with all his reasons to disembowel that Orc where he stood, not only let him go, but escorted him to a neutral encampment."

"Why's that 'trouble' you?" Derek asked quietly. He didn't like it when Amarn got 'thoughtful.' It usually didn't bode well.

"It troubles me because there may... may, mind you, be more to this than meets the eye." Glancing significantly at Derek, he added, "Or far less."

References to Diary of a Mad Gamer Chick:

Nadezhda – worms her way into the story in chapter 99
Ronjaty – identified as Drizzul's mom in chapter 32