Ganked V.2
Chapter 3 Growing Pains
Nina's training was difficult. First, her manners were a complete mess. When Nina arrived, she was bathed and dressed appropriately. Her hair had even been done, thanks to Cyrus, the only one who seemed to manage it. But there was no disguising her manners, her lack of social graces, or that appalling accent.
It wasn't long before she became the object of ridicule and scorn among her schoolmates. As if often the case, bullying became common. This was true of the girls, who spared no opportunity to point out every flaw in speech, every poor stitch, or torn bit of leather in her shoes and gloves.
This sort of behavior was thoroughly unfamiliar. The folks at Eastvale were always kind to her. The children enjoyed her company, and she was great friends with everyone, even if they did think her somewhat strange. All her attempts at improvement did not resolve matters. No matter how much she tried to fit in, they would find another flaw to pick at.
When she finally was able to leave, to apprentice with another Mage for her continued training, it was decided that she should go to Stormwind. Whatever the students thought, Khelden saw in her a great deal of talent. Of the five students, she was the only one selected to study at the Wizard's Sanctum, under the tutelage of Jennea Cannon. There the teasing began anew, and she was at a loss of how to end it.
The High Elves were the ones who interested her the most. She watched them keenly, taking note in their behavior and mimicking it. After a time, she decided to change her name to something that seemed more elvish and less provincial. All of this had the desired effect of lessening the torment until it ended all together.
All the while, she thought of Autumn. Her one hope was to find him one day and thank him for everything. Despite the bullying, she'd found something she truly loved - magic. Although she would see more beautiful pendants and amulets as she grew in strength, none would match the one that was given to her that Summer's day.
Cyrus' stay at Theramore was largely uneventful. His hair was sheered, his clothes were mended, and he was forced to bathe. Like Nina, he was consider a savage when he first entered the ranks, and teased relentlessly over his accent. Like Nina, he changed his accent to fit in. Besides those minor inconveniences, his six-year stay was, in his view, quite a bore.
The reason he stayed six years, instead of five, was Lorenna. She arrived a year after he did, a volunteer just like him. He was smitten at once. Her golden hair and dark, flashing eyes were enough to render him speechless. There was nothing that he wouldn't have done for her. Indeed, there was nothing that he didn't do.
When she asked to carry her things, he did without question. Take over a shift for her while she "bathed," why he was the one to do it. Sneak some extra mead and beer to her room in the middle of the night? Sure, why not.
For all his pains, she would reward him with a smile and an appreciative pat on the head.
"You are always so nice to me," she would say with a grin.
There was nothing in the world that made him happier than hearing those words. Of course, most of the other men thought his behavior unbecoming. To his face, they told him he was being a fool. They called him Lorenna's Pet Dog.
Shortly before his five years were up, he was approached by the commander of Theramore Keep. They could extend his stay for one more year, if he wished. The king of Stormwind had vanished, some said kidnapped, and there was talk of open hostilities between the Horde and Alliance in various places.
Of course he would stay, if only to be with Lorenna for one more year.
It wasn't until he gave her the news, while they were on patrol on the swamp hugged road, that he began to sense that something was wrong. In his head, the news would bring a happy squeal, and perhaps a hug. But no such reaction came. Instead, she looked down and frowned slightly.
"Why did you agree to stay?" she asked, with an annoyed edge to her voice.
He wanted to say, "To stay with you," but the sudden chill in mood changed his mind.
"Because they are needed help with the patrols," he replied.
"That's true," she agreed.
Nothing else was said of it, and her mood considerably cooled after that conversation. Although she still asked for his help on occasion, her requests became less frequent.
One night, while he stood watch by the inner gate, he caught sight of her entering the stables with another soldier. He didn't see who he was and he didn't care. Instead, he felt crushed and demoralized. But as angry as he was at her, he was angrier still at himself for being such a fool. 'Lorenna's Dog' indeed! He swore he would never be at the beck and call of a woman again. He could be out, adventuring himself, perhaps even finding the lost king of Stormwind! But instead he was stuck watching the darkness, blistering with wounded pride and an aching heart. What a fool he was, what a stupid, bloody fool.
But that night was not all sour. As it is in one's darkest times, light sometimes appears from the strangest sources. The source, unnoticed by him because he was too busy looking at the ground, feeling sorry for himself, stopped at the gate where he was stationed and paused. As ordered, he asked for a name and occupation.
"What do you mean occupation? Can't you seem my void walker right here?" was the shrill voiced reply.
He looked up, and for the first time noticed a huge void walker looming before him, blue, menacing, and chained. But as for the source of the voice, he could not find it. He scanned the area with dismay.
The voice sighed.
"Are all human guards that dense? I am down here!"
As ordered, he looked down and there, staring at him with huge, luminous green eyes was a gnome woman, or girl, he wasn't sure how to refer to them. She was tinny, only about three feet tall, with black hair stacked up high in a regal do. Her red robes were elaborately stitched, trimmed with velvet and lace.
Even if he hadn't seen her imposing voidwalker, there would have been no question as to her occupation.
"Warlock, what is your name," he murmured.
"Wigget Spindleswift, at your service," she replied in a mousy voice.
"Enter and welcome to Theramore Isle," he said with detachment.
"Wow, you sound sad. Is anything OK? Are you OK? Do you have a problem? If you have a problem, maybe I can fix it! I am an engineer after all."
For a moment, Cyrus wondered if he could confide in her. After all, in his uniform and helm, he was nothing but a nameless, faceless, guard. He was no different from all the other guards, and they were treated like gnomish inventions themselves. But he wisely decided against it and merely waved her in.
One day, while he was off duty, drinking at the Inn, Wigget entered and sat before him.
"You are the sad guard, aren't you," she said as soon as she sat down.
He was a little startled that she recognized him in plain clothes.
"I am...not sad anymore. But I was the sad guard you greeted your first day here, yes."
"Ah, well, I am glad to know that you aren't in a funk. What was the problem?"
He merely shrugged his shoulders. "It really doesn't matter anymore."
That is when Lorenna entered with some flavor-of-the-week brute of a mercenary. He couldn't really resent her. If that's what she liked, then she was welcome to it. Wigget gave him a quizzical glance as she watched the pair drink together. Cyrus pointedly ignored them.
"Ah," Wigget murmured.
She had seen the exchange and knew the problem at once. Truth be told, she was a little disappointed. Here she was expecting a real problem, say, a loose gear or a broken steam engine.
"Well, now that we are here, let me introduce myself to you good sir. I am Wigget Spindleswift. And you are... "
"Cyrus."
"Cyrus...what?"
"I don't know. I was a foundling. I grew up in the woods of Elwynn with a dwarf who was gone half of the time, an Elf who was never there, and a feral girl who stunk like a troll."
He stared into his cup and smiled. Those times were some of his happiest...come to think of it.
"Well, then, doesn't that sound fun! I was the same, almost, I was a great princess in Gnomeregan, but when the city fell I was forced to flee with my family to Ironforge. But that place was boring, so I left. They don't like Warlocks there anyway. Hey, you don't have a problem with Warlocks, do you? If you do, then it's no worries. I'll leave you alone..."
"I don't have a problem with it," he interrupted.
He was naturally skeptical of her noble heritage. During his stay at Theramore, he'd met enough former nobles and princesses to fill all of Stormwind and pour out into Elwynn forest if need be.
But despite her questionable heritage and his apparent lack of fun, they became fast friends. They mostly talked of the world and their plans. He was fascinated with her tales of lands beyond. He hadn't really traveled. Now at twenty-two, stuck in a fortress, he was becoming restless. His skills were honed in and he wanted to test them in battle.
As the year wore on, he waited with increasing impatience for his contract to end. Right before it ended, his commander approached once more and asked for an extension. The Outlands were opened, scores of Blood Elves now roamed the continents with new power and a thirst for revenge. Cyrus happily refused. There was no way he would stay there another minute. Only one more week, and he would be a free man.
It was then that a letter arrived for him from Denevell and Skinflint. They had been traveling in Kalimador and were going to pass by on their way to the Eastern Kingdoms. Nina was waiting at Menethil Harbor. She would join them and together, they would travel to Southshore. They wondered if his time on guard duty was nearly up. If so, they would love for him to join. Cyrus readily accepted, even giving them the exact day of his dismissal.
The day before he was dismissed, he packed his bags. Wigget watched him curiously, laying on one of the top bunk of the barracks, her face resting on her hands.
"What are you going to do now?" she asked.
"I am going to Southshore with Skinflint and Denevell. Or not. Maybe I'll just go alone. Who knows? That's the beauty of it."
"Can I come with you? Oh let me come. I've already been to Southshore. I can be of some help!"
He paused before replying, while stuffing another shirt into his already full bag.
"I don't see a problem. But it's up to Skinflint. That old dwarven bastard can be rather ornery at times," he replied.
Wigget sat up and stretched lazily.
"When do they arrive?"
"Tonight."
"Hmph, well, I will see if they are a good enough for me to call companions. I just can't travel with just anyone, you know, with my pedigree."
But later that night, when she finally met Skinflint and Denevell at the Inn, she was not nearly as glib. After the serving wench brought a round of drinks,
Wigget kept her face hidden behind the glass most of the night.
"So, lass, what Noble 'ouse did ye say yer were from? I know 'em all on account o' my travel's before it fell," Skinflint said.
"Ah, a minor one," Wigget replied with a squeak.
"Ye say she's a friend o' yers?" Skinflint asked Cyrus, giving him a critical eye.
"Yes, dad, she is a friend," Cyrus replied, making sure to emphasize the word friend.
No one but Denevell noticed that he'd called Skinflint his father.
"And you want to go with us to Southshore," Denevell said.
"That would be nice," she replied.
"Guys, hustle!" Cyrus commanded.
In a moment the three men stood in a tight circle by the fire, their shoulders together as they stood in a huddle.
"Let's just take her with us. I think she's lonely," Cyrus said.
"I don't like Warlocks. They deal with fell energies and mess with powers that are far above their comprehension," Denevell objected.
Skinflint nodded sagely.
"I agree! N' she's lyin' 'bout bein' a noble. I dunno like liars," Skinflint protested. "I'd bet every last gold coin that she's never been ta Southshore!" Skinflint declared.
"And yet I don't sense malice in her lie, wrong though it is," Denevell said.
"She is a Warlock and an engineer. We'll need her," Cyrus explained.
Skinflint openly scoffed at the idea.
"Nina would appreciate another female in the group," Denevell mused.
"Yeah, so they can talk about dresses...and stuff..." Cyrus continued, although he wondered exactly what that wild scrap of a girl knew about such things.
"I guess she can go," Skinflint said at last. "But I want no talk o' this Noble 'ouse business."
"Got it!" a voice said from within the huddle.
All three followed the source of the voice, down, only to see Wigget's large, green eyes staring back at them. Wigget had become bored waiting for them to finish their huddle, so she merely walked between Denevell's legs and watched as each spoke in turn.
"O' all tha creature's ya had ta befriend, ya 'ad ta brin' a gnome! An Orc would'a been better!" Skinflint roared.
Cyrus replied with a sheepish grin and a shrug.
The next morning, the four companions left for Menethil Harbor, where Nina was waiting. The tide was high, the wind was swift, and Cyrus felt at long last that his life was just about to begin.
It took them three days to reach the Eastern Kingdoms and lower anchor. As the crew went about their business preparing the ship for landing, Cyrus stood at the edge, looking anxiously towards Menethil, and his future beyond. A fog hung on the air, shrouding the town in a gray mantle. Only a few lanterns peeked through, their golden light diffused in the gloom.
Denevell joined him, and gave him a pat on the shoulder.
"Well, I was just thinking. I left one swamp, only to land in another," Cyrus said.
Denevell laughed.
"That is often the case in life, but we won't stay here long. Listen, there is one thing you should know. Nina has revealed through her letters that she's changed her name. She now goes by the name of Neiana."
Cyrus was taken back by that.
"What? Why? That name sounds silly."
"I think she was bullied during her training. It seems that her wild, feral ways were not welcome in Stormwind. Her name sounded too provincial, so she changed it to something less...human and more elven to compensate. At least that would be my guess."
The man sighed and shook his head.
"It's ridiculous, but if that's what she wants, then it doesn't matter to me."
The ship meandered slowly to the pier and then a figure materialized within the fog, although still black and indistinct. She wore the robes of a mage and a wide-brimmed, pointed hat. Cyrus was the first to exit the ship after the plank was laid out.
He turned to her. She had the blue eyes, tanned skin, and brown hair he'd remembered. But she was entirely too pretty and clean to be the Nina. But then a flash of her blue eyes, with a twinkle of mischief, caught his eye and he recognized her a once.
"Neiana, you've changed," he remarked.
"As have you," she replied.
The refined nature of her speech caught him by surprise. He was not expecting her to have changed that much in the course of six years. Had her training been that difficult?
"Lass! It's been ta lon' ya know!" Skinflint declared as he gave her a huge bear hug. "What do ya think yer' doin' changin' yer name ta some outlandish 'lvish contraption!"
"Oh Skinflint, I missed you!" she declared as she returned his hug.
"It is good to see you again, child. Although I don't think I can call you that anymore," Denevell said.
That is when Wigget decided to pipe up and introduce herself. She extended her hand.
"Hello! My name is Wigget Spindleswift and I am a Warlock. I am from a Noble..."
Skinflint gave her a warning glare.
"...Gnomeregan. I hope you'll have lots of things for me to fix!"
Neiana shook her hand heartily.
"Pleased to meet you, I am Neiana. Those are some very pretty robes!"
"And what would a stinky troll like you know about robes?" Cyrus teased.
"More than some meat-head with metal for brains would!" Neiana replied tersely.
"What kind of name is Neiana? Who are you trying to fool? Last I checked, your ears aren't pointed," Cyrus replied mockingly.
She gave him a hot glare.
"They'll be none o' that! Ya kids better 'ead on ta tha inn 'n rest fer tha night! We 'ave a long ride ahead o' us!"
"How about my mount?" Cyrus asked.
"We'll take care of them when they're unloaded from the ship," Denevell said.
"Oh! I'll go with them! I have my mount with me all the time," Wigget exclaimed, referring to her Felsteed that was only a summon away.
"They'll be tha death 'o me fer sure!" Skinflint declared as he watched them retreat to the Inn.
"You'll be fine. Your kids are all grown up, after all."
Skinflint sniffed. "Oddest pair 'o dwarfs I've ever seen if that's what they be," he muttered.
Meanwhile in Tarren Mill two Blood Elves, along with an Orc Hunter, crossed the gates into the foreboding town.
Sol glanced around him with amusement. The dilapidated fences, the sad, weather worn homes and the gloomy town hall all pointed to one thing: Forsaken.
"Nothing says the 'Forsaken,' like a rusted hinges and boarded up windows," he observed wryly. "I can practically hear a worgen's cry from here."
"Pft, Darkshire was spookier," Lucilin commented offhandedly.
"How did you even manage to get along in an area with so many humans? How did you stand the stench?" Guntag, the Orc, asked.
Beside him crawled his pet, a rather large, green, hairy Deepmoss Venomspitter that Guntag lovingly named GlubGlug. It crawled and skittered beside them, with a great deal more self-awareness and intelligence than most thought possible.
"It was a pain," Lucilin said. "But we managed, didn't we."
She gave Sol a little smile, but he did not return it.
"No human must have been safe," Guntag muttered.
"You'd think, but he spared a little girl. He even gave her a present," Lucilin teased.
Guntag was aghast, and yet pleased at the same time.
"I was thinking that you never showed humans any mercy. But that was more than just mercy, that was kindness," he exclaimed. Then, turning to Lucilin, he continued. "Was he sick?"
"No, I wasn't sick," Sol replied. "I was under orders. Also, I don't hurt children. It's not my style."
The elf looked quite different than he had those years ago. He'd cut his short and now wore it spiked. Years of dealing with the Forsaken, and living among them in their gloom, had robbed him of the sun. His tanned skin had paled. He was now a Paladin, having trained with the Blood Knights shortly after his time at Elwynn Forest.
"And that's why I stick around despite the fact that the two of you are a bunch of arrogant pricks. You have honor, Sol. I admire it," Guntag said deferentially.
"Why Guntag, I thought it was because GlubGlug liked Lucilin," Sol replied with a teasing grin.
"That too," Guntag murmured.
"You can't blame her. She's got excellent taste," she remarked as she patted it gently on the head.
"Well, let's go to the Inn, or pitch a tent, and get situated. This place is under constant threat of Alliance attack, so we must be vigilant," Sol commanded.
"You aren't kidding," Guntag said. "I was ganked here three years ago by two Alliance goons...more than once. Luckily there was a priest nearby. They were only fooled by Feign Death once. This is excellent hunting ground for the two of you, and a fertile for that little game you like play."
Sol smirked.
"Bring it."