~*~ Author's Notes ~*~
The Ashenvale Treaty, which featured prominently in The Shattering, allows limited lumber and hunting rights for orcs in lower Ashenvale. Upholding this treaty is so important to the Horde they execute those caught circumventing it.
In shortening the Orgrimmar story arc I converted most of it to dialogue. I am bluntly telling the audience (you, as well as the Horde in general) everything that was going to be revealed in the 30+ chapters which got cut. I tried to keep the flow, but there are bound to be a few rough patches. The goal is to get through Orgrimmar in 5 chapters or less while staying on track with character and plot development.
~*~Chapter 79~*~
Kayas let go of the steak.
It flopped down, limp. The orc held very still. Fear sharpened claws pressed very close to his jugular. She backed up his arm till she ran out of room. Still the priest advanced. She leaped to the other shoulder. That arm went out instinctively; she claimed it. Eye to eye she watched the priest advance. Kayas drooled plague and spat it into the air.
The priest said, "You won't eat the steak I bought you but you'd steal one from an orc?" She wasn't surprised to find that wildcats ranked under orcs in the blood elf high opinion. The admonition brought grunts of protest from both prep cooks. The priest ignored them, world narrowed to one feline and her temper.
Bite me. Turn undead and die some more.
Jetadiah was different. Had been since Tirisfal. Blood Elves were not far removed from those elves who's bodies were arcane constructs molded for millennial by the Well of Eternity. Being the most capable anarchists in the world made them a pretentious lot. Right now there was no pretense. The priest's finery were missing, and with it most of his arrogance. You can always tell how high ranked a Sin'dorei is by how many layers they wore, or how powerful they are by how many they removed. Wearer's choice. Right now it's still just a single layer of linen without so much as an undershirt. What purpose did such a uniform server?
Prep-Cook 1 offered astute observations, "I believe it's going to take your face off if you get any closer." It was his fervent hope this wedding could be crowned by a fight between a wildcat and a pompous blood elf.
Cranky warlocks who set ships on fire with him still aboard were not the only receivers of the priest's Patronising tone. He said, "Your concern for my well-being is duly noted." And ignored. "I thank you for it. However, property lost and found must be returned to it's rightful owner."
Kayas' mind was elsewhere however. Where are your nice clothes? Upgrading the clothes to fine linen did not remove the face that it was slacker attire. This did not suit a man who put his hood up and rode hard past battlefields, yet removed that barrier between him and every grave he passed. It had not taken long for Kayas to realize he saw past the stones and see only what a priest could see. A man who let the ghosts of those who died before their time haunt him – least of all those who fell on his watch – deserved better than third rate linen.
Having no idea where her mind wandered too the priest drew her back to the present. Bluntly he said, "Your embarrassing me in front of friends." The smile which on humans would mean fake friendship showed up on elves as what it really was: an excuse to show off his own set of pointed canines. A reminder that he took bore an ability to have a rather surly disposition at times, and that now is one of those times.
The cook under Kayas cleared his throat pulling the discordant elf's attention to him. "How's your hog sty, Mr. High Priest? Did the pond monster scare you away from your promise haul of mudskippers?" The orc grinned, blue eyes twinkling under his shelf of a brow.
The priest drew a sharp intake of air to protest the human honorific attached to his title. He let it out, deciding not to rise to any of the three baits. His response was diplomatic.
"My sty is clean, cool, and comfortable." With a smirk he asked, "How's yours, Mr. Windylegs?"
Some orcs gasped, others snickered under their breath or openly. Kayas wondered what it meant, 'Windylegs'. Clearly not altogether polite, and just shy of being blatantly rude. Halfway through the next interaction she realized this was some orcish greeting ritual the priest was obligated to partake in if he wanted the cat back. Diplomacy was sometimes his forte.
"Care for some steak?" The cook waved the shredded, damp hunk of meat back and forth, "This one's already tenderized." If he though it would cool the crowd's reaction to the not-quite-an-insult he needed to try harder.
Above them the crowd snickered. The women called down promises to treat the priest nicely if he gave up on the cat and joined the party on top of the wall. According to the men's answering comments proud Blood Elves did not eat anything served at an orcish table.
"That's what happens to people when they join the Alliance," someone called down, "it ruins their good tastes." The cook glared up the wall and the commenter vanished. People snickered agreements regardless.
"Leave him alone," one of the gate guards barked, "They're our ilk now." She narrowed her blue gaze at the priest, "They just haven't been Horde long enough to have the prissy scrubbed off them is all."
The priest raised a long, dark eyebrow at the guard, a corner of his mouth turned up in a half genuine smile and inclined his head slightly. "In good time, ma'am. All things in good time." For a brief second understanding amusement passed between the two. The slight tension broke and everyone eased a little.
He turned back to the cook. Cool loftiness replaced amusement. "As much as it pains me I must decline. I've eaten already today." He was in no pain at all. "The pond monster did not scare me away." He stared the cat down, not one bit afraid of claws, teeth, or plague. "I just came to return this." He held up a strip of sin'dorie red metal, the underside of which glowed with magic runes.
The collar.
Kayas froze.
No steak was worth that. Nothing on the face of Azeroth was worth going back into that thing for. In Tirisfal she'd though the priest was not as bad as the grief-crazed Scarlets or the Dark Lady, but he was far and again worse than the freedom she'd lost only a few feet from the gate of Orgrimar. Once again she'd be willing to trade up in captors before going back to that imprisonment.
Upon seeing the contraption the orc's shoulders stiffened. For a full moment he said nothing, his demeanor reflecting intimate knowledge of their use. Kayas doubted it came from putting one on someone else.
"Do the Farstriders pay priests to bring them cats form Nelfland now? I was assured the native wildlife is recovering."
Recovering from what? Then she remembered the Ghostlands. All it's lifelessness, broken flora, sickened fauna. The Scourge victory flags still hanging from the Elf Gates. She wondered at finding out the Sin'dorei Farstriders were the ones poaching cubs from Darkshore. Kayas bore more than one scar from finding out how easily desperation can overcome skill when an enemy finds out the cat they are trying to filch is actually an undercover druid. (2)
The priest sniffed. "The Farstriders need no help from my ilk. So they say often enough I begin to believe it true."
Prep-cook 1 laughed. "Don't feel bad, priest; they don't like me much either."
Kayas wondered why this prep cook would warrant the attention of any Eastern Kingdoms elf, to like or to hate.
The priest was silent for a second, reorganizing his thoughts. Giving up on pleasantries, he tried for surprising bluntness. "That is a druid on your shoulder," he said with such nonchalance some did an auditory double take, "My druid, to be precise. I'll have her back now, if you please."
The blue eyed orc smiled, as if a moment he'd been waiting for finally came. "It please me she stay where she is. The Dark Lady and I keep in touch, you see."
The looks shot between the line cooks said they didn't know she was a druid. Or perhaps that they had but maybe though the other cook had not. The elf did a good job covering his mild panic that the Banshee Queen had written to the orcs about his druid. He almost frowned, but it would have wrinkled his pretty face.
"Elves have historically not gotten along with each other," Kayas' perch said, "This I understand. However, does that include abducting, starving, torturing, maiming, and attempting to incinerate each others children?" Jetadiah looked dismayed but before he could answer the prosecution continued. "This Kaldorei is unhappy and dangerous so you let her loose in my city? You have forgotten then that the Horde have tenuous hunting and lumber rights in lower Ashenvale – which the orc people sorely need for our survival- and that your actions against this druid may have violated that treaty and put thousands of my people at risk of being without shelter or food?"
Oh, snap! Kayas blinked. Hear ears came forward and she relaxed a little. This whole time she'd banked on them thinking she was just a wildcat. They'd known all along she was a person and hadn't cared. Being a child outweighed being Alliance in their eyes. He hadn't thrown her on the ground to stop her into paste so he at least had some morals?
Intriguing.
Jetadiah was insulted. Deeply. Someone a third his age and far shorter is lecturing an elf on politics? His mount should have added some regalness to his look but right now all it did was elevate him above any defense of his character.
Where was his angry curse-flinging undead shield when he needed it? Didn't they all know it was beneath him to actually be held accountable for the political foibles he might get himself into? Far too important for that nonsense.
"I saved her life," the priest pointed out. He slowly let out a deep breath which would have stopped him saying more. He continued. "She owed me some time and energy. The rest was an accident."
The orc stared him down, non-to-impressed with either title, power, or race. He himself wore only a thick leather belt, a kilt, and swordless sheath. If you don't include swirling spirals of shamanic tattoos going up one side and down the other. He didn't so much as have a shirt on his back – and for Elune's sake he was manning a grill – but Kayas could tell the priest didn't want that showdown.
"What, exactly, where you doing in..." the orc looked at Kayas for a moment, and she looked back, "... Darkshore at that time?" Both cat and orc looked back at the priest awaiting his answer.
Jetadiah looked annoyed. This united front was not good. "How can you tell where she's from?"
Line cook 1 barked a laugh. "We might all look the same to you, but you don't all look the same to us. Her ears are far shorter than an Teldrasil-born druid."
"By 'us' you mean elves? My peope do not... train in druidism. Turning oneself into an animal is strictly a Night Elf... thing." Jetadiah cleared his throat. "We train Farstriders to use animal companions instead." Kayas had never heard him use the Common translation for her people's race. It sounded weird, forced. She didn't like it, and neither did he.
"What you mean to say is," Line cook 2 chipped in, flipping the steaks burning behind the cat's perch, "you think druidism is aldoran and being that close to nature is beneath you."
The priest's eyes narrowed dangerously. He didn't like gruff orcs using his people's beautiful language so flippantly. To say the least of his opinion of Sin'dorei hygienic habits. As much time as he spent outdoors his teeth where pearly and he never showed an ounce of stubble. One would never find him rooting around in the underbrush taking life lessons from caterpillars. Ew. (3)
The cook stepped back to take the spatula from Line Cook 2, effectivly ending their dialogue and sending the man back to his own station. Cook flipped the remaining meat before returning to a somewhat less annoyed Sin'dorei.
"She's from Feralas," he said. When the priest relaxed a little too much the cook smiled. "You didn't know that? Well, deductive reasoning is not a skill of rogues and scouts alone. The ears say it all." A fat finger pointed to her small tufts. "Small and furry as opposed to large and long. However, the moon markings are missing, indicating a young druid. In Feralas they don't let youngsters out of their sights long enough to be snatched. They do in Darkshore, but only because it's relatively free of Horde." The words were emphasized to show his displeasure that the priest's presence had disrupted that peace. "Ruling out the one location leaves only the other."
Kayas tried to look smug. This orc had only been around her for ten minutes and knew more about her than a blood elf she'd been traveling with for months.
The elf couldn't pretend not to be tense anymore. If this orc deducted all that from just looks alone, what else did he know. Something passed between the two men, saying things that wern't being said. Discussing her at length without a word. Finally the priest exhaled, body stiffening once more into that proud posture he donned so well.
Kayas smugness faded.
Kayas wondered what they had said about her that was consequential enough not to share with the class. Maybe it was things she knew about herself that she wouldn't share with anyone. Even her friends back in Auberdine didn't know she had an ability to use fire magic, should she choose to. They would call her that vile word used for High Elves and run her off, no matter how much they loved her deep down inside. Magic was forbiden and what was best for the kaldorie people always came before what was best for the individual.
The priest wasn't done making his case though, somewhat grumpy about someone else knowing things about his toy that only he should know. All amusement he'd shared with the guard a moment ago was gone, replaced by a serious disposition which bespoke the heavy burden of things left undone and soul scars freshly seared.
"Do you propose to let her go then? She'll head strait back to Ashenvale and tell them all about the evil Horde and I'm sure someone like her could whip them all up into a fine frenzy. They'll cut off Ashenvale for sure, especially since she's their only Guardian and it's her job to tell them what's what."
True, Kayas though, in the future I'll be in charge of the security of Ashenvale. The sentinels and rangers will take their orders from me. That's what they're training me for. But not now. Right now she was still training and had decades of learning ahead.
The cook was about to respond when his prep-cook interjected. "You're not getting that cat back, druid or not. Let it go." The other orcs cared not one iota for whatever point the High Priest was trying to make. The shaman wanted to keep the cat and the priest was just going to have to be ok with that. Prep cooks 1 and 2 closed flanks behind the orc who manned the grills.
Prep-cook 2 was more astute, "Told you that was that Elune fire thing they cast. Took your totem out in one hit. You need to work on that, Chief."
The cook waved a dismissive hand at his underling, not wanting to discusses dismal shamanic skills at the moment. An open hand pointed up at the druid, "Undead druid? Is Sylvanas experimenting on children again?"
You have to ask? Again? How many and how small were the bodies that lay in the Dark Lady's wake? Vaguely though her mind Kayas heard the priest's voice full of rage asking much the same thing:
"Back to experimenting on innocent children, I see."
Where did that come from? She'd never seen the two of them talk, so how could she very clearly be getting his voice accusing the Banshee Queen of such cruelty? She'd heard him angry, upset, calm, broody, whiny, humored, and a whole host of emotions. She'd never heard him enraged.
"Didn't Runetotem go whining to you about it? He said he would." It sounded like the complaint it was. If this Runetotem person was going to inform everyone about her presence in Orgrimar there would be not need for the Priest to do so. Apparently this man had fallen through on his promise to be a snitch.
"Runetotem didn't tell me anything except she looks different. Looking different doesn't mean she's undead. It doesn't mean she's not still a kaldorei druid, not still Alliance. What do you have to say about this?" The orc was smug. He clearly knew his druid, being able to tell them apart not just by race but by location. He'd bet the priest couldn't tell the difference. (1)
"Bite me, Windylegs." More snickering from the wall and line cooks. This was getting good. The priest took liberties with the orc and the druid wondered how well they knew each other. "We're Horde; since when did we start tiptoeing around the Alliance like this?"
That had a rather instantly sobering affect on everyone present. The cook, Chief, they called him, considered the priest's words. Indeed, the druid though, when had the Horde ever cared about the Alliance? Subtle peace did not mean a lack of victims. Warsong Gulch, a strip of land several miles wide between the Silverwing Sentinel's Ashenvale headquarters and the Warsong Lumber Camp, was a field so plagued by violence few made it from one side to the other without altercation and a healthy dose of what humans called luck.
In the hesitation the priest saw his opening to make his case, "You know what happens to risen kaldorei: they all choose the fire. Every one. I did not infect her with the plague: I prevented her turning for good and becoming another set of bones devoid of chance to fulfill their potential."
A plethora of emotions rushed over Kayas' brain one after another. Horror first that other kaldorie had been infected, risen and given themselves over to the fire. Oh, Elune! Show mercy on Your children! Not seeing undead kaldorie led her to believe they were immune. It was not immunity, nor the Dark Lady's tact. It was because given free will and the flame they chose to maintain the balance by finishing their deaths. Kaldorei uphold the balance even to their deaths.
The second emotion was gratitude in surprising amount. The priest had saved her becoming true undead. Mixed amounts of gratitude played with a bit of anger. Despite being the cause of the entire fiasco he really had done what he could to stop her from being unmade as a true kaldorie. Whatever his reason for abducting her from Darkshore it had nothing to do with the Dark Lady. If Kayas hadn't planted the trees in lower Quel'thalas they wouldn't have traveled to Tirisfal Glades. Being a High Elf herself of course the Dark Lady wanted to take advantage of her talents and turn the druid to her side. It had put a hitch in the priest's plans, and everything else that happened, from the incident in the courtyard which had never been explained to the Cathedral, and even Nekov, were a direct result of the priest denying the Dark Lady what she wanted and bringing Kayas back from the brink of undeath to stay firmly(?) planted amongst the living(?).
The last emotion was surprise. Even as the others swelled this one came up behind it and pushed them out of the way, demanding most of her consideration. The priest thought she had potential? Was the one of the reasons he saved her and bore her away from her own lands? Despite how angry, upset and in pain she'd was his words at the front gate had been heard.
He promised it wasn't all for nothing.
He said there was a reason.
Someday she would understand.
Chief asked again, "So is she an elf or Forsaken? She's undead you say? Can they even be druids?"
In the tunnel a kodo thundered out of the opening, kicking up dust as it went. The bulky tauren seated firmly in the wagon steered it with precision to the furthest end of the valley. Cook and priest turned to give the tunnel a look but nothing more happened so they turned away.
The priest said, "She's not undead. She's... re-alive?"
The shaman sighed heavily, "This is why people like you don't need to work for people like Sylvanas. You go blending what is and isn't alive and dead till even you can't tell the difference. You should save your skill for the battlefield."
At this point they noticed a sudden drop in traffic coming out of the gate. In the kodo's wake a clack, clack, clack could be heard. Kayas hissed. She knew that sound by now.
The priest smiled brilliantly though the shadows still hung in his eyes, "I cannot possibly agree with you more. May I have my druid back now?" There was a hint of question but no hint of asking permission. This voice was Persistence, a direct copyover from his companion.
The sound drew closer to the gate. Clack, clack, clack. The dust settled just enough for a head and shoulders to emerge.
Chief wasn't done lecturing, "Priests should give blessings, heal in battle, and bury the dead. Leave life and death to the shamans."
"That would be grand advice," Corrosa responded as only the Forsaken could, "if life and death only affected shamans.".
~End Notes ~
1) Love stories abound on Azeroth and the resulting children need training. My assumption is that children born in different territories would just train in those territories. Over time the ecology druids are so sensitive to would affect how their forms look, making subtle size, color and shape differences. Blizz patched in different colors a while ago, but I couldn't think of a "real world" reason till now. In this story all tauren still look the same, and so do all night elves, with very subtle differences. I hate the jewelry and corsets and omit them on purpose. If druids don't look like the old school models I'll mention it specifically.
2) Back in the day I had a horde hunter. I'd tame a non-Darkshore pet and then head to Darkshore. I'd hang out flagged near the nooblet towns with my pet parked in the open. I'd hide behind something and move my pet around to mimic "forage" motions. Eventually a rookie hunter who doesn't know better would try to tame my pet. Doing this would flag them for pvp.
3) If Levi Rivaille played WoW he'd be a blood elf rogue.
Written: 9/3/15
Edited: 1/5/16-1/9/16
Uploaded: 1/9/16