Ganked V 2.0b

AN: I know that the quest that will be presented here is a little different than it is in the game, or was rather, because it no longer exists. But keep in mind that I am not writing about the world as it is in a game, but rather as it would be if the world were real and subjected to the same laws as ours. One cannot carry five bags into battle, filled to the rim with heavy items, for example. And just as in "real life," there is always the chance that things do not go as they are expected to. Chaos and uncertainty are just as big a part of life as the physical laws which govern it.

Chapter 4 The Game

It wasn't long after arriving that Sol and his party became ingratiated in Tarren Mill's hectic way of life. Not a day went by when a group of Alliance would try their luck and attack either the Mill or the people around them, or a group of Horde would try the same at Southshore.
Although the minor skirmishes were always thwarted, it didn't end their onslaught. It didn't help that there were few casualties suffered from either side. Due to the overabundance of Paladins, Druids, Shamans, and Priests, the skirmishes ended only when someone got tired of being resurrected. Constant battle made everyone laugh at pain. What hadn't they felt before healing?

Sol and his group didn't participate in too many of those raids, but instead found amusement trying their luck hunting their favorite prey: Alliance humans. One of the games they liked to play involved the human weakness to Blood Elf beauty. Although few Blood Elves thought the humans were attractive, the opposite was the case with the humans. And so it was easy for them to find a lonely and isolated man, or woman, and then trick them into following them somewhere for a supposed tryst, only to end up killing them off instead.

But Guntag was getting restless. He tired of simply going out, hunting some human, and ganking him. Instead, he wanted to do something that would serve the Horde and the greater cause. After some deliberation, it was decided that they would speak to High Executor Darthalia about the job she was peddling.

She was less than friendly when they introduced themselves, demanding that they stand at attention (even though they weren't soldiers, they were mercenaries), dropping big names, and making all sorts of demands. After Sol asked her who it was they would be attacking, she merely shrugged a violet robbed shoulder and said, "Six farm hands, six farmers, Farmer Getz and Farmer Ray."

"I see," he replied. "And I so there is not a single woman living in that farm? I find that a little odd."

"No, there isn't, but what difference would that make, Paladin?" she hissed.

"Well, where there are women, there usually are children about," he explained.

A slight smile crept over her parched lips.

"You are soft," she hissed. "I wonder if you're the one I can use for this little endeavor."

"Oh no, we will do it. I'm sure you had the best rogues scouting the area," Lucilin interrupted, a little embarrassed at her partner's weakness.

"Well, then, go. Come back when you are done and you shall be rewarded."

Off they went to Hillsbrad Fields to disrupt the supply lines and try to soften it for attack. The farmlands were relatively easy to kill, and they did so, without alerting anyone due to Lucilin's stealthy hands. Next came the farmers, who by now had begun to get nervous. The farm had become too quiet.
It was a muffled cry from one of the farmers that alerted the rest to a problem. But by then, it was too late. GlubGlug's web locked two of them in place, which were quickly felled by Guntag's sword. Sol easily stunned one, picked off the other who was running away, and then finished the first with a clean cut to the abdomen. Lucilin sliced the last one's throat.

"There we go. Now all we need are Getz and Ray," she said.

"One is in the orchard, the other in the house," Guntag said.

"I'll go to the orchard, you guys can get the one in the house," Lucilin said.

Lucilin disappeared into the shadows and went up to the orchard. She very carefully crept forward, only to find Farmer Getz tending his plants. He was completely oblivious to what had occurred. And he remained oblivious even until death. The other two were not inclined to be stealthy, so they merely burst into the house, where they found a very frightened, and determined man waiting.

"You will not prevail!" he declared.

Guntag didn't care for the farmer's garbled speech. Instead, he unleashed his angry spider on the man. Although he fought valiantly, the beast's fangs and powerful limbs undid him. Sol didn't participate. He didn't have to. It was over in less than a minute.

"Well, Guntag. I hope you're satisfied now," he said rather glibly.

"Sh..." Guntag commanded with a raised hand.

Sol noticed that he had his eyes closed, turning his head with concentration.

"What is it?"

"There is someone else here," he said.

"Did Farmer Getz survive?" Sol asked.

"No...it is not him."

His eyes then opened with a flash and he turned to a corner of the room that was covered with several boxes.

"There you are, human!" Guntag roared as he swiped the boxes away.

They smashed against the wall with a violent crash, breaking into several pieces. The human hiding beneath was a little brown haired girl, in a simple pink gown, barefoot and dirty from playing in the mud. Her tear-streaked face was at first blank with shock, but at once she broke into a shrill, piercing scream at the sight of the giant Orc and his deadly spider.

At first no one said anything, as they stared at the screaming girl with disbelief. Why was she there? Had she been a daughter of one of the farmers? Was she a neighbor's child, visiting the farm out of desire to play with the animals? Was she an orphan that Farmer Getz had taken in?

"I... don't ...understand," Sol stammered, but then his stammer became an enraged roar. "She's not supposed to be here!"

"What does it matter?" Guntag said coldly. "We were told to kill the humans here."

The sight of a little girl being mauled to death by a giant spider, probably one of her greatest fears, was too much for Sol to bear. He swiftly, and not too gently, plucked her up and dragged her, kicking and screaming, out the back door. He set her down and then knelt, making sure that she faced him.

"Shh!" he commanded her, holding his finger up to his mouth.

Then, without a word, he pointed to Hillsbrad Fields. At first she seemed to refuse to move, fear having frozen her in place. But he reminded her of what awaited her if she refused by pointing back to the house. There, in the shadows, loomed the giant Orc, blades in hand, standing beside the menacing arachnid.

Nothing else had to be said. The girl ran back to the town, fleeing to safety as quickly as her little legs could carry her. As Sol watched, hoping, his heart sank when he saw two Forsaken appear above a ridge. One of them, a Priest, cast a shadow bolt in her direction. She was dead in an instant. The two then approached the body and stood before it, glaring at Sol, daring him to come and try to resurrect her. It was a common tactic that was used when an enemy was killed, in order to prevent someone from coming by and resurrecting his body. It was jarring watching it done to a civilian, and a child at that.

"I was a painless death," Guntag said, offering some comfort.

Sol was about to turn away, when he saw the other Forsaken, a rogue, bend down and reach out to the corpse. The grotesque nature of what was about to happen sent bile up his throat, and he could no longer bear to watch.

"I'm going now," Sol declared.

"Yes, let's," Guntag agreed.

When they arrived at Tarren Hill an hour later, they were in a rather dispirited mood, except for Lucilin, who did not witness what had transpired. Sol didn't even bother turning in, as the others did, and declared flatly that he would have nothing else to do with her and her quests. When High Executor Darthalia inquired over him, Lucilin quickly responded that he was not feeling well and was resting at their tent.

"Surely those farmers were not too difficult a challenge," she said with a mocking tone.

"There was a girl there," Guntag explained. "Sol was not...happy with that."

"A girl? But there was no girl there," she declared with a cruel grin.

A chill ran up Guntag's spine. "But there was..."

"At ease, Hunter. You have done well on the Hillsbrad front..."

Sol was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the day. It was only when Lucilin and Guntag arrived at camp that they saw him seated by the fire, watching the flame as he sipped on a hot drink. The camp was located within the walls of Tarren Mill, adjacent to the farm, since the Inn was filled to capacity.

"I think I will retiring early tonight," he murmured as he entered the wide tent.

It was clear he wanted to be left alone.

"I am sorry that he is like that," Lucilin said. "He generally doesn't care. But when it comes to children, he just seems to lose his composure."

"No, don't apologize for him. It is right for him to be so. If we were all that way, then we would not be so hasty in war. I, myself, have a child who lives with his mother near Ogrimmar. It is comforting to think that even in times like these, that there are lines that are not crossed."

"True," she said with a weak smile. "I just wish he weren't so quick to show it. He ...makes a spectacle of himself when he does."

"Do not concern yourself with the Forsaken. They have no honor."

When Guntag awoke early the next morning, Sol was gone. His bedroll was neatly rolled and placed in a corner. His armor and weapons were missing. Lucilin was out by the fire, wearing plain clothes and preparing breakfast. She looked a little bedraggled, which was rare for her.

"What happened to Sol?" Guntag asked.

"Oh, I don't know, he's just around," she replied with feigned indifference.

Neither of them thought much of his disappearance until noon. It was then that the party became concerned. After it was discovered that his Charger was not in the stables, Lucilin's concern turned into panic.

"He's gone off on his own! Doesn't he know what can happen here in Hillsbrad! He will be ganked," she said with a hurried gasp.

"I believe he is strong enough so that most will let him alone," Guntag said evenly, trying to calm her down.

"I'm going to don my armor. Guntag, please make yourself ready," she commanded.

"Go on, I am always ready," he growled back.

After she was dressed, it occurred to them that they had no way of resurrecting him if he was found dead and within the allotted time frame for resurrection.

"We must find someone who can resurrect him if need be," Guntag observed.

Lucilin looked about her in a frenzy. Her eyes fell on a rather forlorn looking Forsaken Priest, with long, moss green hair and slack jaw. His white robes were rather dirty, but not tattered. He was poking the mud with a stick, trying to find some bugs for lunch.

"You there," she commanded as she pointed to the poor Priest. "You are to come with us."

He looked up and then pointed at himself with shock.

"Me? But..."

"No time to argue! Get your horse and follow," Guntag commanded.

That was the final word. Moments later, the three charged out of Tarren Mill, desperately trying to find their lost friend.

Guntag was correct, however, and Lucilin's worry was largely unfounded. Few Alliance went about the Hillsbrad Foothills in the morning, looking for victims. Also his mount, a Charger, marked him as a seasoned warrior instead of a mere novice. So the scattered Alliance parties that were met in the wild steered clear of him, looking for easier prey or too busy in their own quests to bother with him.

As it was, he was riding in a less traveled part of Hillsbrad, on a northern grassy slope, beyond Hillsbrad Fields and near the border of Arathi Highlands. There, upon one of three ridges, he could see the green expanse of Hillsbrad before him: the patches of forest, the rolling hills, the neat farms and the blue sea beyond, all rose to greet him. It was a sight he appreciated as an elf, especially as a Blood Elf, who preferred the warmth of the sun, unlike his more nocturnal Night Elf cousins. The serene beauty of the vale lifted his spirits and removed the sting of the previous day's events.

Then it was that he spotted a small figure in the valley below. It was a mage, he saw plainly by the violet pointed hat that he wore and the staff that lay beside him, although he could not ascertain the sex, since the long green cape and hat hid him completely. The mage was quickly, and deftly, picking some Mageroyal. So intent was he in his work, that he did not notice the Paladin approach, even though the Charger's heavy armor made him less than stealthy.

It was not until he blocked the mage's sun by standing directly to the east, barely three feet away, that the mage took notice. He paused, set the clippers down and then very carefully and deftly reached for his staff. The hands that held the staff were gloved in purple trimmed leather. He was clearly getting ready for a fight, if that's what Sol wanted. But he knew, from the mage's armor, that there was no contest. He held the upper hand, so he was not at all concerned. The previous day events had sapped his killing intent, so he was feeling generous, and would allow the mage to run or hit him first if he was feeling suicidal.

But the mage did neither. As he rose, Sol saw quite plainly that it was a human woman. And when she lifted her head, allowing him to view it beyond the wide brim, he noted her blue eyes were filled with fear. Some of the flowers that she had picked fell carelessly from her lap to the ground. But she did not run. Clearly, she wanted to continue her work and was hoping he would pass her by without incident.

Sol smiled, or rather smirked, at her as he watched her stand her ground, shaking and fearful though she was. He began to circle the mage and took notice of her brown hair, which was put up in a smart bun. Her skin was tanned and ruddy. She was quite young, perhaps eighteen or nineteen if he estimated human ages properly. By human standards she was quite pretty. If he wanted to, she was a prime candidate for the game he liked to play. But the fact that she was so devoted to her craft made him reconsider. There was a reason why she was willing to die upon that particular hill: gathering up flowers that were fairly common and not particularly expensive to buy. That reason was more than just a love for plants or money, it was personal. And he could not help but respect it.

At last he nodded to her, allowing her to continue with her work while he circled around, guarding her from outside interference. She somehow understood his intentions and returned to her work, but hurriedly so as not to strain his good graces. It wasn't long before she was done.
As she turned to leave, he noticed that a flower was left behind on the grass. He swiftly dismounted, which got her attention. She quickly turned to him, ready to cast Frost Nova, thinking herself betrayed. But instead of him standing behind her with a sword, he held a Mageroyal in her direction.

"You dropped this," he said in Thalassian.

He knew from experience that humans considered it a very beautiful language. She noticed that he was smiling at her. He had enjoyed giving her a scare. Instead of taking the flower, she reached into her pack and picked another Mageroyal flower and single Peacebloom.

"Take this. If you mix it with that Mageroyal you will get a minor rejuvenation potion. It is easy enough for anyone to do. If you want..." she offered with her palm open.

He wondered why it was that she was speaking to him in common, as though he could understand him. The fact that he could understand was beside the point.

He shook his head. Instead of taking the herbs, he held her open palm with his left hand and then placed the flower on it. He then gently bent her fingers over the herbs with his right hand. All the while, he held fast to her. The effect was for her hand to be cupped between his.

"I am afraid I can't. You see, I am not an alchemist," he explained in Thalassian.

It was an innocent remark. But being unable to understand him, she would imagine he said anything.

The effect was immediate, her blue eyes widened and glistened, her cheeks became flushed and pink. She slowly withdrew her hand and lowered her gaze.

"I'm sure that you can't use them. Perhaps you are a jeweler," she said rather breathlessly.

Was it his imagination? Did he see her hand that he'd just freed inch towards him, as though asking to be grasped once more?

A voice from behind interrupted them.

"Neiana! Stay away from him!" a man called.

The woman turned to the voice. And for the first time, he realized they were not alone. There were two Alliance mercenaries standing not ten feet away, mounted but ready to strike at the slightest command. One of them was a diminutive Gnome. Although looking rather comical in her fury, standing on her raging Felsteed, experience had taught him that they could be rather fierce in battle. They were not to be trifled with. The other was a human male, a Warrior, who seemed very proud sitting atop his swift brown steed.

"He won't hurt me, Cyrus," she called back.

"You don't know that," the gnome said in her shrill voice. "Do as your brother commands and return to us. Skinflint was worried. You know how dangerous these parts are if you wander around on your own."

That is when the Warrior dismounted and unsheathed his sword. Although Sol was sure he could take the Warlock and Mage if he needed to, the Warrior was a more experienced than the two. This made him a wild card.

He would have prepared for battle, but instead decided on a little gamble. After the Warrior dismounted, she turned back to him apologetically. But his face was immovable. He merely raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, as if to say, "Well, I spared your life, will you now do the same?"

"Don't you think he would have ganked me already if he wanted to?" She argued, turning back to her two companions.

A little smile creased his lips. She'd passed. And it was then that the three horde comrades arrived, the Hunter Guntag with his trusty spider GlubGlug, Lucilin, and the nameless Priest. The Forsaken always made humans feel unnerved, even among those who regularly dealt with them. Neither Cyrus nor Neiana had spent too much time in areas that were populated with them. The priest's slack, drooling jaw, did not help. And somewhere within the group, they could feel, if not see, the presence of Lucilin, stalking the area and ready to strike.

"They have a rogue," Wigget observed, worriedly. "Maybe we should have brought Denevell."

"Shall we attack now?" Guntag asked.

"No," Sol said. "There is no reason to. They were just about to leave."

Meanwhile, Cyrus looked at the stacked odds and didn't like them. At best, they could tie and make a break for it, and that is if they could get to the Priest. But at that moment, his first priority is getting Neiana out of harm's way. She was so near the spider, its legs brushed against her robes.

"I think you should come with us now," Cyrus said, this time with more urgency. He extended his hand and gestured for her to come.

She gave Sol a pleading glance. He nodded. It was then that she followed Cyrus' command. Since they hadn't brought her mount, she climbed on Cyrus' steed after he did. She took one lingering look back after mounting. Cyrus gave Sol a respectful nod, and they galloped toward Southshore.

"That was a close one," Lucilin said as she materialized beside them.

"What were you doing anyway?" Guntag asked.

"Taking a walk."

"No, I mean with her. You were just standing there, talking," Guntag said.

"He was playing the game, didn't you see?" Lucilin replied.

"I didn't," Guntag retorted.

"Well, I was playing a game, but not the one you're thinking of, Lucilin," Sol explained thoughtfully.

"Did you win?" She teased.

As he watched the group retreat, he caught her turning her head, stealing a forbidden glance.

"I believe so," he replied with a sly smile.

That is when he turned to the Priest. The Forsaken took that to be his queue.

"Sir, if I may introduce myself. I am a poor priest with a Knight's heart who is trapped by the Forsaken's cruel fate of following the path I lived in life."

"And what was that?" Sol asked.

"What's he bumbling about?" Guntag snarled.

The Forsaken must not have heard him.

"You see, in life my name was Sir William Author Wolfgang Wagner III. I was a renowned scholar, spending every waking moment surrounded by books! Stapling them, shelving them, giving them out to little children..."

"It sounds more like a librarian," Lucilin quipped.

"But then the Scourge came...and I became infected and lost my senses. Now I am but a poor Priest, who can only dream of the life I wished to have while reading the books of Knights and Heroes, and Chivalry. So I wear the robes of a Priest against my wishes, but to be a Paladin as yourself! To fight giants with a sword in hand! Now that would be my most sacred wish."

Sol's long, right eyebrow rose slightly with amusement. Clearly this guy was out of his mind, but then again, he was Forsaken.

"Anyway, what's your Forsaken name?" he asked, trying not to laugh at all the chivalry nonsense.

"Oh, I don't have one! I decided to keep my last ties to the world of scholarship, by keeping my name, which is Sir William..."

"Bill it is," Guntag grunted.

"Bill? Well, I don't mind that. Short, sweet, and it sounds much better than what they usually call me."

"What's that?" Sol asked.

"'Shutup.'"

"I can't imagine why," Lucilin remarked sarcastically.

"I like him," Sol said. "Stay. I think you will do much good with us. Indeed as a Priest, you will be our most valuable member."

"You do me much honor!" Bill said with a gracious bow.

Lucilin rolled her eyes.

"Oh great. More Sol worship," she murmured derisively.

When Cyrus arrived at the Inn with Neiana, there was no happy greeting. Instead, Neiana felt she was a little girl, being scolded by her parents as she stood before Denevell and Skinflint. They had managed to secure a room, even as busy as it was, because Skinflint knew the innkeeper and had had dealings with him in the past. The girls shared the bed, and the boys slept on their mats. It wasn't exactly fair, but as Cyrus wryly noted, it was to be expected.

"What do ya think ya were doin' lass, goin' off by yerself in these 'ere dangerous parts!" Skinflint demanded. "Don't ya know the 'orde are not ta be trusted!"

"But they're not all bad!" Neiana exclaimed.

"Yes, they are!" Cyrus began.

"That's hardly fair," Neiana argued.

"Oh? And you don't think that they have something up their sleeve? I just know the Forsaken are planning something devilish!" Cyrus said.
This is when Denevell decided it was best for him to interject.

"Neiana, the issue is not whether they are good or bad. There are many good members of the Horde as there are bad members of the Alliance. The issue here is that they are our enemies, and that is why they are not to be trusted."

Skinflint nodded sagely at this advice.

"Ye take that ta 'art girl. I dunno want ye ta get mixed up wi' some bad sorts 'cause they're Alliance, or killed 'cause ya thought 'e was a nice chap!"

After a few moments, Neiana thought of what was said and nodded. "I understand."

"Over some Mageroyal too! Of all the stupid things to risk your life over. You know Aunt Jill would not have cared..." Cyrus declared.

Neiana's eyes flashed with anger and she raised her hand to slap him. But quick as lighting, he gripped her wrist and stopped the blow from making contact. He held her wrist tightly and did not let go.

"She took care of me too, you know. You weren't the only one who lost someone important that night. She wouldn't have wanted you to die over some flowers. As much as she loved them, she loved you more," he explained in a low, even voice.

For several seconds, silence hung heavy in the air as the two people glared at each other, not breaking their stare in a contest of wills. Denevell broke the tension by clearing his throat.

"Perhaps we should end this discussion here. Just promise us that you won't do it again," Denevell said to Neiana.

"I promise," she murmured dejectedly.

"Ya kids are gonna be tha death o' me! I can feel it in me bones!" Skinflint declared wearily. "If Jill could see ya now, fightin' like 'arpies, she'd regret savin' the two 'o ye. Now get ta tha stable's, Cyrus, and care fer yer 'ourse. Neiana, don't ya 'ave some plants ta crush? Go on then. Git ta it!"

"Yes sir," they both said contritely before leaving them.

Wigget followed after Cyrus, excited to help with horses.

"I have all sorts of ideas on how to make equestrian care easier. You know, I even have an electric brush I invented..."

The door shut, leaving the two men to think of Neiana's narrow escape. After a few minutes, Denevell turned to a weary Skinflint, who was feeling too old for these sorts of things, and asked a question.

"Do we know for certain that they are not blood relatives?"

"That we do. Jill found tha boy in tha swamps o' Wetlands, somehow u'armed 'n the girl we found in Elwynn Forest...why do ye ask?"

"They do not act like brother and sister," Denevell replied bluntly.

Skinflint scoffed at this.

"Them two? They're children is what they are! Bah, ye n' yer 'lvish fancies..." He paused and stroked his beard thoughtfully, considering the possibility. "Per'aps it be best if we got 'nother room. I think tha Inn keep, 'e owes me another favor...just 'ncase."

"Hrm. It would be wise."

Cyrus and Wigget went to the stables, and she kept him company while he brushed the mane of that handsome brown steed. As they talked for a while, it became evident to Wigget that he had his mind somewhere else. He didn't even notice when Neiana entered the stable.

"Well, Neiana, how are you?" Wigget asked cheerfully.

The woman looked rather contrite, fiddling with her hands and looking to the ground ashamed. Cyrus turned to her, gave her a derisive glance, before giving his attention back to the horse.

"Listen, guys, I'm sorry for going off on my own. I put myself, and everyone else, in danger. I didn't...think and it was detrimental for everyone. I won't do that again," she began.

"It's OK. We all do something stupid when we're young," Wigget said.

Cyrus momentarily paused before continuing his work.

"Also, Cyrus, I'm sorry I tried to slap you up there. It doesn't matter how angry..."

"It wouldn't have hurt anyway. You wizards are always so squishy," he interrupted.

Neiana laughed nervously. "I guess that's true."

It made her sad that he had still not turned to her but she had little reason to stay in the stables. There was nothing for her to do but to leave.

"Well, I guess I must be going to crush some flowers, as Skinflint puts it."

"See you later," Wigget said cheerfully.

Cyrus said nothing. Neiana gave Cyrus one last glance before leaving for the Inn's basement, where she had put all her alchemy supplies.

"Do you realize how rude you were?" Wigget asked Cyrus.

"I don't care. She still doesn't realize how much she made us worry. And I bet she still hopes to run into that stupid Elf at some point."

He wasn't wrong. Neiana wished very much to run into him again. He had touched her in a way no man ever had, quite literally. They were not a particularly affectionate culture, and touch between sexes was simply not done except with family, medicinal purposes, or betrothal. No man had ever held her hand in such a way, or expressed himself to her so boldly. The fact that the man happened to be a Blood Elf, and an enemy, didn't bother her in the slightest. If anything, it intrigued and excited her.

Although he looked like Autumn she was certain that he was not the same elf. Autumn was an old man to her, a father figure. But this elf, who was undoubtedly everything good and noble to be found in a man of any race, was obviously young like herself. At night while the others slept, she would lay in bed, thinking of him, conjuring up desperate scenarios by which they would meet again. All the while her hand would tingle where he'd touched it. It didn't matter that she was gloved when he had. The warmth of his touch still penetrated the leather, and kissed her skin.

But it would be a long time before she would see him again. Shortly after their encounter, Sol and Guntag decided to go north, towards the Arathi Highlands. Skinfklint, not wanting a repeat of any foolishness, and guessing correctly that the Horde group would head north, directed his party south instead. They traveled all the way down to Stranglethorn Vale before it was decided to head to Kalimador. One place in particular, a land of serenity, silence and snow, tugged at Denevell's heart.

At the same time, Sol and his friends embarked on their own journey, on a flying ship heading for Ogrimmar. It had been too long since Guntag had seen his family. And from there? Who knows? Perhaps they would head north. Winterspring was said to be beautiful, after all.