Ganked V 2.0b
Chapter 12 The Gauntlet
Three weeks after she arrived at Shattrath before schedule, she decided it was wise to inform Skinflint of her early arrival. She sent him a letter. In it, she merely stated that the Draenei wanted to go to Azeroth and she decided to head to Shattrath early. Strictly speaking, it was not a lie. It was merely her telling them the truth, while holding back important information. He wrote to her immediately and informed her that they were on their way. The trip would take about two days.
It was good that he was. She was nearly at the end of her tether, almost out of money, and having only the most useless items left from her trip at Nagrand. But since there was an abundance of useless items being hawked at Shattrath, finding a buyer proved to be more difficult than she'd expected. After all, who would want to buy chipped claws or rusted tools?
With one last bit of copper left, she decided to head to the World's End. She guessed correctly that the bounty on her was about spent, and being a lone mage without her Draenei companions, she was in no danger for assassination. In theory, Shattrath was a safe haven where old rivalries were set aside. It was illegal to fight anyone there. And it was mostly true in practice, but there was no guard, no matter how vigilant, that could watch everywhere all at once. And if a Troll were found dead in a ditch one morning, who was to say that it wasn't from a drunken brawl? In such cases, the code of silence was not broken. Shattrath was a vast city, filled with mercenaries and sell swords. It was not entirely safe, despite its reputation as a sanctuary. Still, she needed a stiff drink. Besides, someone was bound to buy some chipped claws.
It was nearly nightfall when Sol and his party arrived at Shattrath. After checking in all their mounts at the stable of a very packed inn, they parted ways. Guntag decided to go fishing at Silmyr Lake, taking GlubGlug and Huron with him. Lucilin claimed she was tired from the trip and wanted a hot bath. Lucky for her, the Draenei at Shattrath had wised up and realized that certain races, namely elves and gnomes, considered the ritualistic dunking of water an absolute necessity and opened up a hot spring near Aldor's Rise. Humans, Orcs, Dwarves and Forsaken (especially the males) would not be caught near, thinking it another strange elven manifestation. Tauren just rolled around in the mud and called it a day. She invited him to come along but Sol was in no mood for her extended company after a harrowing three-day long road trip with all the bickering, stress, and aggravation it entailed. Bill explored the vast library of the Arcane.
Left alone, Sol decided he needed a drink.
The journey to Shattrath was dotted with dangers: with wild animals and enemies, so he traveled fully equipped, including his helm, which he did not remove after he entered the bar, so accustomed was he to wearing it.
He entered the busy bar only to see a human girl haggling with the bartender. He recognized her at once. It was Neiana. Her long, brown hair, was gathered in a loose bun. She wore long plain robes, and held a simple staff. It was clear to him that her time at Outland had not been as profitable to her as it had been to him. It was her own fault, he mused, wasting her time hunting elves and gathering plants when she could have been making a fortune sacking dungeons. And here she was, desperately trying to sell a chipped claw. Well, he pitied her, but he was no fool. The best thing to do was keep away from her, so he took his place at a table near the end of the room, adjacent to a table that seated three Alliance adventurers, waiting for the barmaid while keeping an eye on her.
"What do you mean you wont buy this chipped claw? Everyone buys chip claws!" she cried.
"We have no need for them here ma'am," the annoyed elf replied.
"But it is a good chipped claw! You can make them into wine bottle openers and necklaces!"
The barkeeper then pointed to a large can filled with wine bottle openers and necklaces made of chipped claws. The sign read: stuff made from chipped claws, 2 copper each.
"As you can see, the owner got the same idea a year ago and those have been sitting around ever since. They haven't sold and now he's forced to put them on clearance. He's getting rid of them at a loss. You know what that means?"
She shook her head.
"It means that he loses money. And you know what that means?"
Her eyes were watering.
"No," she squeaked.
"It means I get paid less!"
"But…I can't even sell these at the auction house," she whined.
"There is a reason for that! Listen lady, read the sign!"
She then pointed to a very large, very yellow sign that had a very prominent message posted in five different languages:
WE DO NOT BUY YOUR JUNK! NO EXCEPTIONS!
"Oh," she said, feeling sheepish.
"Oh…" the barkeeper mimicked mercilessly.
The woman, feeling deflated and stupid, found an empty booth and proceeded to mope.
"Good thing Skinflint isn't here to see this," she grumbled.
A High Elf waitress with an attitude came around.
"Listen, the boss told me that we don't take poor loafers like you. Git!"
She was about to leave when a group of men, seated at the table next to Sol, stopped her by calling her over. Sol noticed that one of them, an older human man, had been leering at her the whole time. There was something familiar about that one, but he couldn't quite place it. Still, he'd seen a lot of humans in his his long life.
"She's with me," the man called.
He put two gold coins on the table and then invited her to sit with them. They were a rough looking bunch. Besides the balding, gray-haired man who just offered a seat, there was also a pink-haired Gnome Warlock who was missing an eye and a tall, beardless elf Rogue with deep blue hair, almost as dark as midnight. The two younger men were seated directly behind him. Hey could almost touch their shoulders with the hilt of his sword if he so wanted. She sighed and decided she had nothing else to lose.
"Two honey mead," the man said.
"Whatever," the elf said before heading to Sol's table.
He asked for some honey mead as well.
Neiana gave the three sellswords a sheepish grin as she took a seat.
"Thanks for the drink. Things haven't been exactly fruitful right now," she said.
"That's alright, miss, always willing to help," the man began with a toothy grin.
"Julius here is a great warrior. You should see him in battle," the pink haired gnome began.
The elf poked him in the side and whispered forcefully, "Too early Gearshift!" before smoothly turning to the girl. "What my drunk, and stupid, gnome friend here is trying to say, is that we've had a great time here in Outland. It's been quite profitable."
"Gentlemen! How rude of us, it's time for introductions," Julius, the older man, began. "I am Julius McFinn, this pink haired abomination is our friend Gearshift Turnwrench, and this ugly chap here is Faelden Nightwalker."
"Pleased to meet you," Neiana said, feeling awkward. "I am Neiana."
"Neiana...what? If I may ask," Julius began.
"Oh, I don't know. I was a foundling."
"Ah! A foundling, why how sad," Julius said with exaggerated sympathy.
The elf serving wench brought back the round of drinks. Besides the mead for Neiana and Julius, she also had some beer and wine for the gnome and the elf. As she passed by Sol's table to hand him his drink, he motioned her down.
"What can you tell me about those guys?" he asked in Thalassian.
"Who them? They're a rowdy bunch but they don't mean no harm. They like women, though. She seems like easy pickings."
He gave her a cold glare, which she didn't notice due to his helm.
"Thank you, High Elf," he said tersely. "You may go."
"No need to act all high 'n mighty, Blood Elf. You'd be waiting tables too if you were in my place," she snapped before leaving.
With that she left with a huff, and Sol stayed, becoming very curious of their conversation. Most of it was Julius at first, with Faelden and Gearshift adding parts that enhanced Julius' participation and strength. Then it became interesting. They claimed, quite boldly, that they participated in the Siege of Tempest Keep!
What nonsense, Sol thought. As if those three buffoons could have gotten anywhere near Tempest Keep, much less take it!
How funny it would be if he were to suddenly appear before them and call them on their ruse. After all, he had on him the original Chrystalforge Breastplate, picked from Kael'thas broken body, which proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had been there. He relished the thought of revealing their lie. But alas! He had to sit there and pretend he cold not understand common.
Things got awkward, however, once the second glass of mead came around and they learned that she could not hold her liquor at all. It was her turn to talk and share her own tales of adventure, which to her, were really a tale of woe. Since she was drunk and getting worse by the second, she became painfully honest, which goaded the group for more information. The more they talked, the more she talked, and the more amused they became.
"So you spent four months looking for a guy in Nagrand?" Julius asked.
"Yeah…wut's wrong wit' that?" she asked.
"But the Outlands are so vast! Don't you think that's silly?" Gearshift asked.
"They reminded me o' 'ome, besides, there weren't many Blood 'lves there. I figured that he'd stand out. Besides, 'e's come around before, I thought maybe 'e would show up again," she explained, leaving some bits out.
"Blood Elves?" Faelden asked.
"Yes, they don't really show up there 'lot. They all 'ead ta Netherssstorm... Especially since 'e 'ad spiky black hair...hick.. There aren't many o' those runnin' 'round...I think."
"Is it me? Or is she starting to sound a lot a dwarf?" Gearshift asked.
"Probably raised by one," Sol heard Faelden murmur to Gearshift derisively.
"Can you even tell them apart?" Julius asked her, incredulously.
She was about to take another swig but the question made her freeze. Her hand stopped moving half way up to her face.
"No…"
The three men laughed heartily at this. Sol however, did not laugh. He was angry at her for wasting so much time on such a stupid game, for being so casual to reveal it to strangers, and angry at himself, for being the one to instigate it by seeking her out at Nagrand. Besides, didn't she realize she had bounty on her head? He wasn't the only Blood Elf in the establishment, she should have known that another could probably understand. She'd be a marked woman then and there. All they would have to do is wait until she left the city. It was inevitable that it would happen.
"Unbelievable. Well, I wish ya luck on yer quest to find this mysterious Blood Elf," Julius mocked.
"I 'ate 'im so much, I do!" she declared ruefully.
"Why? Why do you hate this guy?" Faelden goaded. "Did he break your heart? Surely it isn't that."
The woman then began to recount a tale that sounded painfully familiar to Sol. Apparently, she was wandering around Winterspring with some of her friends when she ran into a particularly nice Blood Elf who flirted with her. She was young and naive, and he was handsome and debonair. The story practically wrote itself! This was much too delicious to pass up, especially since they could see the end a mile away.
"So it was love! How did I know?" Faelden remarked triumphantly.
"A genius and a poet. I like this guy," Julius remarked.
The woman banged her fist on the table.
"I'll like ta send 'im ta tha next life wit' me own 'ands!"
"It would be fun to see you try," Gearshift said. "But ganking happens to everyone, I wouldn't worry about it too much."
"He was just having some fun! By loitering around, waiting for you to get your revenge, you're only feeding his ego!" Julius declared.
"So 'e doesn't care?" she asked sadly.
"I can guarantee it! Besides do you even know his name? It's not as though you can actually talk to him," Faelden goaded.
Sol began to sip on his chalice. The fact that she was leaving certain things out of tale, even as drunk as she was, spoke of a great deal of her self-control. Surely, she wouldn't be so stupid as to reveal his name.
"'is name was Sol," she replied.
The reaction to the name was instantaneous. Sol nearly choked on his drink. All three laughed so loudly that some of the people around them were beginning to notice.
"What kind of name is that?" Gearshift asked.
"Sol? A fruitcake if I ever heard it. Or maybe a fake name..." Faelden berated.
Sol couldn't stand it anymore. He had to listen to these three brag about doing something he'd done, only to have them mock his name and he was seated right behind them. There was only so much an elf could tolerate.
He stood up immediately and glared at the four seated beside him. After removing his helm, Neiana gasped, sobering up immediately.
"I am Sol!" he declared in an authoritative voice.
The company of three men looked at the elf, then at the woman, to confirm what they thought they had just heard. Even though he spoke in Orchish, to maximize the effect, the name clearly rang out. Her face was all the confirmation they needed. She now stood, her mouth agape, her eyes wide with shock, anger and fascination all at once. He then did something that everyone could understand quite plainly. He removed his right gauntlets and placed it firmly on the table. It was a challenge for a duel.
By this time, every eye in the inn was locked on the men, waiting with expectation for a fight. Half of the tenants were itching to fight the other half, and the elf at the counter became very concerned.
"I will challenge any man here who has dared sullied my name with a fair duel outside the city walls!"
He knew they couldn't understand, so he pointed to the east, which he knew they would understand as "outside."
"What is this?" Faelden asked, ruefully. "We aren't knights."
"Pft, like we're going on a duel with some idiot because we laughed at his name," Gearshift said dismissively.
But the older man was not laughing. He may have been an old lecher, but he was also a season warrior. He'd fought in the Third War, along side High Elves. He understood, even if his young friends did not, that there were certain Blood Elves who knew common precisely because they were High Elves before the schism. And guessing by the Crystalforge Breastplate that he wore, this elf participated in the offensive of Tempest Keep. The item he recognized, even if the others could not, because he'd seen on Kael'thas himself all those years ago. He glanced at the elf, then at the woman, who stood spell-bound, and also surmised that there was more to the tale that she was not letting on, otherwise she would not have been so drawn to him. It would be a safe assumption to assume that was his woman they were trying to soften up for later.
They had laughed at his name, claimed his victory as their own, and had impure designs on his woman. Those were reasons enough for a duel if he ever thought of any. But he also knew that those two would not stand a chance against him, young, strong, and brash as they were. Besides skill, he had of experience that the others did not. He may have looked young, but he was actually seasoned, just as he was.
"Beggin' yer pardon, Sir," he began, as he stood respectfully. "They meant no offense. Please forgive my drunk friends here. They can be a bit rowdy at times. There is no need to disturb this here peaceful city with any duels and such."
He gave him a stiff bow.
"What are you doing, this man can't understand us," Faelden said.
"Pft, let the guards take care of him," Gearshift said with a shrug.
Sol gave the two seated to the right a glance and then he looked up at the old man again, it was then that he recognized him. He grabbed his gauntlet and began to put it on. While he did, he spoke to Julius in Thalassian.
"It's been a while, hasn't it? You're still the same sort of chap you were, old goat. Although I see you've changed your name. Trouble with the law, perhaps, James Shaw?"
Julius' face fell. His eyes now filled with recognition. That face was one he would never forget. There was no denying it was him, even though his previously blond locks were now coal-black, throwing him off the scent at first.
"Having fun at Allerian Stronghold? I heard the Wine there is quite strong," he remarked with a meaningful glance."Also, control your friends," Sol commanded, pointing to the two younger men with amusement, before turning around and strolling away.
"Yes, Sir!" Julius said, without thinking.
The old warrior sank slowly back to his chair, a far away look on his face.
"What happened?" Gearshift asked.
"Soliandrus Lightbringer," Julius replied softly. "Was a lieutenant of the High Elves during the Third War. But he wasn' like the other elves, ya see, no, he liked us human chaps. He'd have a drink with us, gamble, and sing bawdy songs till morning.
We did them wrong ya know, we did. Locked them up for consorting with fell powers as such, at least that was the excuse. But they were desperate, they were. They were hungry and they lost everyin'. I know, because I lost it all too when Loreadon fell. Those were hard times. I know you remember it, Faelden, but those times did not hit ya as hard as it did us. It changes a chap.
That breastplate he wore. I remember it on Kael'thas Sunstrider. He looked so proud as he rode up beside us with his army, going on a mission we all knew was suicide from the start! I remember every detail, I do, and every item that gleamed in the sun, and how proud they looked as they were sent out to die. And Soliandrus, he followed him like all the elves did. It must have hurt to see him as he was so changed in Tempest Keep!"
Gearshift and Faelden were spellbound. They thought Julius was just a fun old guy the'd met at Allerian Stornghold. They had no idea that there was so much hidden behind that weathered face and heavy brow. Then it hit them like a ton of bricks, Sol could understand them, every word. No wonder he challenged them to a duel! Gearshift and Faelden looked at each other and communicated the same thing, we should watch what we say from now on.
It was then that the three noticed that Neiana was no longer with them.
"How long has she been gone?" Faelden asked curiously.
"Oh, I'd wager she chased right after him," Julius replied with a knowing smile.
Julius would have won the wager if anyone had been there to investigate it. For as soon as Sol turned to go she was at his heels. Knowing that she was chasing after him, he tried to lose her by setting a brisk pace and making several sharp turns into dark, refugee filled alleys. Still she followed him, barely paying attention to any of the hungry stares that followed her as she passed the orphans on by. She may have a poor adventurer, but to them, she was as wealthy as any.
It was in a particularly dark and abandoned alleyway, near the south entrance that he finally stopped walking, and waited for her to pass him by. Quickly as she appeared, he pulled her in the alley and pushed her a against the wall. She glared at him defiantly and shoved his hand away from her arm.
"Sol, you coward! How dare you run from me after all you've done!"
"Listen lady," he interrupted. "You need to stop with this nonsense. As much as my ego was inflated by your little obsession you've got to realize that I've ganked hundreds of people! Do you think you're special? One of a kind? You need to move on…and consider yourself lucky that I did not leave you dead."
"But why? Why did you do it?" she asked.
There was something very innocent that began to creep up in her eyes, which softened them. A hint of familiarity sprung from them. For a moment, a clear pool of water came to mind; a sparkling river in Elwynn Forest, but he banished those thoughts.
Instead, he leaned very close before replying.
"Because I hate every single one of you nasty little traitorous insects! "
But Neiana was not the same she had been before and now that she had him at last, she was regaining her wits.
"And you have the gall to mock me for my single-minded revenge. How dare you stand on your high horse and blame the entire human race for the actions of one man! At least I left the Horde alone! I was perfectly happy to just gather up my plants in peace! But then you came and cured my innocence! Cyrus was right, there is no good in you at all!"
"What do I care about a young woman's supposed innocence? It was bound to have been taken by someone else, if not by me," he mocked.
Neiana gave him a serious, clearheaded look as she glanced up at him.
"Duel me. Let's settle this once and for all. You will feel my hatred when I destroy you," she challenged.
"Duel you? Nonsense. I may make a poor Paladin, not caring for any of that chivalry rubbish, but I am not that bad. You've barely got the gear to kill a single Quill Boar, much less challenge me to a duel. I wouldn't dream of entering such a lopsided fight. It would be beneath me," he hissed.
"Give me three days then. Skinflint and his party should be returned by them," she countered.
"Oh, so you'd sponge off your friends to fight me? Would you tell them, oh foundling princess? Hrm? Would you tell them of that little Game you were playing, while they were off actually working for the Alliance? And what were you expecting for your troubles, a little kiss, perhaps?"
Those words hit her like poisoned barbs. He examined her carefully before continuing. Sol's green eyes became very cold.
"But if you want to die, then I shall oblige. Go ahead and spend whatever good graces you have with them left. Acting like a child when you should be a woman."
"Do you accept challenge?" she asked, ignoring his insults.
"What does it sound like to you? Are you stupid? Or must I spell it out to you plainly, using small words your little human ears can understand."
"Don't get too cocky, elf. I am not the same girl you ganked in Winterspring," she declared.
He shrugged with nonchalance.
"I wouldn't know. After all, I don't remember," he lied. "But if you do think you can take me on one on one, than meet me at the Tuurem Ruins. They should be abandoned by now, don't you think?"
"When?"
"In three days, after your friends arrive and gear you up properly. We will meet by the bridge where the two streams meet, when the night is deepest," he replied. "And don't you even think of backing down. It was you who threw the gauntlet at me, don't forget!"
"I'll be waiting for you, coward. But before you go, I want you to have something."
She reached into her pack and removed two items. One, he recognized as a Diamond Focus Ring. The other, was a Malachite Pendant. Instead of handing them to him, she threw them to the ground. They clinked and clattered as they landed on the stone floor.
"This ring is yours. I don't want your paltry trinkets. And the Malachite Pendant you forgot to take with you when you took everything else from me of value in Winterspring. Sell it and buy yourself a drink, you cur."
With that, she turned from him and walked away, leaving him alone in the darkness.
"Silly woman," he murmured with a smirk.
He bent down to gather the jewels and pocketed the ring. It was the Malachite Pendant that interested him. He remembered her fierceness in Winterspring as she demanded it back, before he blasted her unconscious. At the time, nothing else had mattered to her but that little trinket, it held more valuable to her than her life. And how quickly she'd discarded it now. It saddened him somehow, in a way he couldn't quite place why. Did it replace the loss of innocence that he'd sensed in her when he first saw her, busy with her work in Hillsbrad? No, there was something else there, something that he couldn't quite place. With a troubled mind, he put the item in his pocket and left for the inn.
Because of the influx of adventurers converging in Shattrath, the sign at the inn that read NO VACANCY was unnecessary. Those who trickled by, anxious for an empty space turned away almost immediately. Nearly every inch of the ground was covered with resting bodies, with nothing more than blankets for cover and privacy, besides a curtain that clearly separated the "ladies" from the "gents."
Those packed within were wearing the same dirty, used, rough-for-wear armor they had owned for weeks, maybe even months and the results were offensive. The stench of dirty Orc, elf, Tauren, and Troll was nearly overwhelming. Had their noses not been conditioned by years of spending nights in filthy inns, weeks without changing clothes or proper toilets, they would have probably died from the stench. Still, this inn was by far the cleanest Sol had ever seen.
But as it was, Sol was already accustomed to his fetid fighting friends (to his amazement, the Undead did not stink), so he did not notice the stench as he shuffled his way in through the sleeping bodies and on to his reserved corner.
By now, Bill had returned from his search at the Seer's Library, and found several books to check out for the day. One of them involved a man who believed himself a Knight and went off on a fool's errand with his servant. It was quite intriguing, really. Although he felt quite sad for the deluded man. Mistaking Windmills for giants indeed!
He noticed that Sol was troubled as he went to sit on his bed roll. There was something bothering him. It was then that he noticed that Sol was fiddling with a Malachite Pendant. He was flipping over his fingers like a coin, absentmindedly. Bill remembered something about a Malachite Pendant in Winterspring. He opened up one of his journals, the one that related to the Ganking.
The woman was so exhausted, that she could no longer stand. As Sol approached her, menacingly, about ready for the kill, she raised one of her hands with some difficulty. Apparently asking for the Malachite Pendant he'd recovered from the snow only moments before.
"Such a small, pathetic thing! I have made hundreds of these! And yet you would risk your life for it?" the paladin spat.
Although she couldn't understand him, she roared with rage in her uncouth, human tongue. The unintelligible babble could only mean one thing: give me back my pendant! That small, useless item was now the most important thing to her. More important than her life or pride, and the Horde who loomed about her sneered with contempt at her infantile weakness.
He glanced up at Sol, and saw a faraway look he'd remembered once before, when he'd spoken of Adelle while in his apartment in Undercity.
"If I may intrude on your thoughts, sir, but am I correct in thinking that you've run into the girl?" Bill asked.
Sol merely gave him a sideways glance before replying.
"Perceptive as always, Bill. Indeed I did run into her. She has challenged me to a duel, and has given me this item to sell since I forgot to take it in Winterspring, or so she says."
"Ah," Bill said. "Well, it is odd that she would just throw it away like that, after she tried to hold on to it so tightly in Winterspring."
"Indeed," Sol said, and then he glanced at the jewel that he'd cut those years ago, but still did not recognize it. At that moment, as he saw it reflected in the light, a small voice, a voice almost forgotten, rang in his mind.
"It's green! Like yer eyes it is!"
"It can't be!" he murmured.
Those blue eyes, so small and inquisitive, filled with the promise of magic. That dirty brown hair, tousled and heaped on her like a bird's nest. The dirty tanned skin and the ragged clothes, they had little in common with the poised woman he'd met at Hillsbrad. And yet...
He picked up his journal and began flipping through it quickly. Bill noted his change, and put away the book as he observed the elf's odd behavior. Sol went to the beginning of his journal, back before most in Azeroth even knew of their existence.
He came upon an entry, practical and succinct:
Elwynn Forest, Autumn - Day 13
Skinflint. Nina. Peacebloom.
And there, folded between the pages of his journal, was the old, dried flower the girl had given him those years ago.
"'ere, 'ave this. It's a Peacebloom. Just take that 'n some Silverleaf 'n ya can make a simple potion. If ya ever get 'urt..."
Neiana had done the same, hadn't she, when he met her the first time in Hillsbrad.
Hillsbrad Foothills, Spring - Day 41
Neiana. Mageroyal.
There she had offered him a single Mageroyal and Peacebloom, using almost the exact same wording, but without the accent.
"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..."
Everything odd about her, the accent she would slip into whenever she was emotionally distressed, her affected elvish speech, and even her name, suddenly made sense. Lucilin was right, that was a fake elvish like name, he could plainly see had been derived from her childhood name: Nina. Then there was the Dwarf, Skinflint, who raised her. He'd run into him again in Winterspring. He should have pieced it together then, but so much time had passed, he barely had remembered little Nina.
Faelden's mean spirited remark was also spot on, she had been raised by a Dwarf, which is why she fully expected him to gear her once he returned. Like any child, she was leaning on her father when she needed help.
It occurred to him then that the innocence she was talking about was not some metaphor for physical awakening, but a literal break from an ideal she held in her heart. She'd given up on finding him, Autumn, because he, Sol, had poisoned that memory forever. She had tossed the very item that symbolized her childish love for an elf who didn't exist and had unknowingly given it to the very elf who had inspired her in the first place, out of hate.
"Unbelievable, to run into the same girl after all these years," he murmured to himself.
"I beg your pardon?" Bill asked.
"It's nothing. I will be going to sleep now."
"Sir, before you go. You said that you will duel her. When will it be?" he asked.
"In three days, at Tuurem, when the night is deepest," Sol replied.
"Well, for a proper duel, I have read that there is usually a second present, and witnesses. Perhaps, if I may act as your second. It would be a great honor."
Sol smiled as he laid back and crossed his right arm over his eyes, preparing himself to sleep.
"You know, Bill, you make a better Knight than I ever could, but it won't be necessary. This will not be a proper duel," he replied.
With that vague reply, he closed his eyes and went to bed.
AN: When I played the game, I was fascinated by the fact that the events of the Third War took place only a decade or so before the timeline in World of Warcraft, and that different elements within the factions had overlapped at some point. This meant that there were war veterans running around. It also meant that there were those who were once friends and comrades in arms who were now enemies.
I know that while playing the game, it seems as though the world is filled with adventurers and the like, but in reality, most people would be regular Joe's living out their lives in Elwynn Forest or Ogrimmar. That would the likelihood of running into an old war buddy much greater. It would also make it more likely that people would run into each other multiple times during the course of the Horde/Alliance lukewarm "war" that is mostly fought by proxy.