Post by vendredi on Apr 23, 2007 19:57:39 GMT -5
The night was at its darkest, long after sunset, far from dawn. The campfire crackled, sending sparks off into the blackness, casting flickering shadows on the two figures sitting by it. The first was broad, its shoulders far thicker than that of a human; the other was small and slender, curled up so as to seem even smaller.
Melessendra sat as far away from the orc as she could manage while staying close to the fire, regarding him with large, fearful eyes. She would have run, but her ordeal had left her weak as a kitten, and despite the tales she had heard of orcish savagery, the small part of her mind that had not succumbed to shock, pain and horror insisted that it was ridiculous to run from the one who had just saved her from a bloodthirsty mob.
The orc, for his part, seemed not to notice. He had pulled an oilcloth and whetstone from his pack, and carefully began to clean his enormous axe. He wiped it down until it shone in the firelight, then began to sharpen it with the stone. The rasp of the stone on the blade pulled at Melessendra's already frayed nerves.
He's an orc. A rampaging savage, part of the ravening Horde.
<rasp rasp rasp>
Don't be a dolt. If he was going to kill you, why save you?
<rasp rasp rasp>
Perhaps he has other horrors in store for me.....
<rasp rasp rasp>
The orc laid his axe aside, and pulled a long, sharp dagger from his pack. Melessendra's eyes widened, but he only picked up the stone and began to sharpen the smaller blade.
With an axe like that, what does he need the knife for?
<rasp rasp rasp>
Run now, idiot. He's going to use it on you.
<rasp rasp rasp>
He saved me. What kind of creature would save someone, only to hurt them?
The orc pulled a folded cloth from his pack, and laid it on the ground. He opened it to reveal two whiskered fish, which he cleaned and filletted with the dagger. Melessendra sighed with relief while feeling extremely foolish. The orc looked up at the noise.
"You do not like fish?" he asked, pulling a small frying pan from his pack. She felt her face redden - how can it still do that if I'm dead?
"No....I mean, yes....I mean, I like fish," she stammered.
He gave a satisfied grunt, and took a small frying pan from the pack, laying the fillets in the pan. Spices in a small bag came out of the pack, and were liberally applied to the fish, as was butter from a small box. Soon the fish were sizzling, and Melessendra felt her stomach growl as delicious smells wafted up from the fire. When the meal was ready, the orc scraped half of the fish onto a tin plate, and handed it to her, while keeping the pan for himself. It burned her fingers as she stuffed some into her mouth, but she did not care. It was food, and it tasted wonderful.
The orc regarded her as he ate, and she tried not to flinch from his gaze. His eyes, deep set and shadowed by thick brows, were blue, she noticed. Finally, when he was finished with his meal, he spoke.
"You are newly undead, I take it?" he rumbled. She nodded, licking her fingers. "I thought so. No undead I know would venture into Scarlet territory without company....or a strong weapon." He took her plate and the pan, washed them with water from a canteen, and threw the remains of the fish on the fire. He said nothing as he worked, and her curiosity began to overcome her fear.
"Who.....what is your name?" she managed to say.
He looked up. "I am Kerrig," he said, bending briefly in a small bow. She fought not to gape open-mouthed at him. Orcs bow? Orcs have manners?
"I am.....I mean, I was.....Melessendra," she stammered. The orc....Kerrig....frowned.
"What do you mean, was?" he said in a puzzled voice. "Here you are. Did you change your name recently?"
"No," she said, lowering her eyes and drawing her knees further up to her chest. "I mean, I'm not really anybody anymore. My life ended days ago, and this is all that remains."
Kerrig eyed her strangely. "But.....you are still here."
She blinked away tears. "But I'm....." she swallowed hard. "I'm dead."
Kerrig snorted. "Are you still walking? Talking? Thinking?"
She sniffled. "Well, yes, but...."
"No but," he said, shaking his head. "I know many fine people who survived the Plague as you have. You are here, so you are not dead."
"Look at me!" she all but shouted. "Look at my eyes! Look at the bones! I am lost to evil!"
The corner of Kerrig's mouth quirked upward in the ghost of a grin. "Those who are evil do not go to pieces worrying about it. Believe me, for I have met many of them. You are not one of the mindless Scourge, young one - you are Forsaken. You have your own mind, and so make your own choice whether to be evil or not. I for one doubt you will choose that path."
She stared at him, at the brutish face with the intelligent eyes, and paused, breathing hard. A tiny spark of hope flared deep within her. The orc nodded once, as if it all were settled, and began to pack up his belongings. "Now I must take you somewhere you will be safe, until you grow stronger. The Undercity is not far away."
"No." This earned her a level stare, but she was adamant. "I do not want to be with all those und - others like me. Is there another place you can take me?"
Kerrig scratched the coarse dark beard along his heavy jaw, his eyes thoughtful. "There is a place I can take you - but there are many others like me, and many other races of the Horde. Are you prepared to meet them?"
The Horde....bits of stories flickered in her head, terrible stories about the savage orcs, the man-eating trolls, the bestial Tauren.....then the stories of evil ravening undead. There is far more to this than silly stories. I must find out for myself. "I am ready," she said, her voice cracking, but her jaw set. Kerrig nodded approvingly. He drew a small object from his pack, and chanted over it briefly. It began to glow, and with a resonant growl, a great white wolf appeared at his side.
"Then we go," he said, "to Orgrimmar."
Melessendra sat as far away from the orc as she could manage while staying close to the fire, regarding him with large, fearful eyes. She would have run, but her ordeal had left her weak as a kitten, and despite the tales she had heard of orcish savagery, the small part of her mind that had not succumbed to shock, pain and horror insisted that it was ridiculous to run from the one who had just saved her from a bloodthirsty mob.
The orc, for his part, seemed not to notice. He had pulled an oilcloth and whetstone from his pack, and carefully began to clean his enormous axe. He wiped it down until it shone in the firelight, then began to sharpen it with the stone. The rasp of the stone on the blade pulled at Melessendra's already frayed nerves.
He's an orc. A rampaging savage, part of the ravening Horde.
<rasp rasp rasp>
Don't be a dolt. If he was going to kill you, why save you?
<rasp rasp rasp>
Perhaps he has other horrors in store for me.....
<rasp rasp rasp>
The orc laid his axe aside, and pulled a long, sharp dagger from his pack. Melessendra's eyes widened, but he only picked up the stone and began to sharpen the smaller blade.
With an axe like that, what does he need the knife for?
<rasp rasp rasp>
Run now, idiot. He's going to use it on you.
<rasp rasp rasp>
He saved me. What kind of creature would save someone, only to hurt them?
The orc pulled a folded cloth from his pack, and laid it on the ground. He opened it to reveal two whiskered fish, which he cleaned and filletted with the dagger. Melessendra sighed with relief while feeling extremely foolish. The orc looked up at the noise.
"You do not like fish?" he asked, pulling a small frying pan from his pack. She felt her face redden - how can it still do that if I'm dead?
"No....I mean, yes....I mean, I like fish," she stammered.
He gave a satisfied grunt, and took a small frying pan from the pack, laying the fillets in the pan. Spices in a small bag came out of the pack, and were liberally applied to the fish, as was butter from a small box. Soon the fish were sizzling, and Melessendra felt her stomach growl as delicious smells wafted up from the fire. When the meal was ready, the orc scraped half of the fish onto a tin plate, and handed it to her, while keeping the pan for himself. It burned her fingers as she stuffed some into her mouth, but she did not care. It was food, and it tasted wonderful.
The orc regarded her as he ate, and she tried not to flinch from his gaze. His eyes, deep set and shadowed by thick brows, were blue, she noticed. Finally, when he was finished with his meal, he spoke.
"You are newly undead, I take it?" he rumbled. She nodded, licking her fingers. "I thought so. No undead I know would venture into Scarlet territory without company....or a strong weapon." He took her plate and the pan, washed them with water from a canteen, and threw the remains of the fish on the fire. He said nothing as he worked, and her curiosity began to overcome her fear.
"Who.....what is your name?" she managed to say.
He looked up. "I am Kerrig," he said, bending briefly in a small bow. She fought not to gape open-mouthed at him. Orcs bow? Orcs have manners?
"I am.....I mean, I was.....Melessendra," she stammered. The orc....Kerrig....frowned.
"What do you mean, was?" he said in a puzzled voice. "Here you are. Did you change your name recently?"
"No," she said, lowering her eyes and drawing her knees further up to her chest. "I mean, I'm not really anybody anymore. My life ended days ago, and this is all that remains."
Kerrig eyed her strangely. "But.....you are still here."
She blinked away tears. "But I'm....." she swallowed hard. "I'm dead."
Kerrig snorted. "Are you still walking? Talking? Thinking?"
She sniffled. "Well, yes, but...."
"No but," he said, shaking his head. "I know many fine people who survived the Plague as you have. You are here, so you are not dead."
"Look at me!" she all but shouted. "Look at my eyes! Look at the bones! I am lost to evil!"
The corner of Kerrig's mouth quirked upward in the ghost of a grin. "Those who are evil do not go to pieces worrying about it. Believe me, for I have met many of them. You are not one of the mindless Scourge, young one - you are Forsaken. You have your own mind, and so make your own choice whether to be evil or not. I for one doubt you will choose that path."
She stared at him, at the brutish face with the intelligent eyes, and paused, breathing hard. A tiny spark of hope flared deep within her. The orc nodded once, as if it all were settled, and began to pack up his belongings. "Now I must take you somewhere you will be safe, until you grow stronger. The Undercity is not far away."
"No." This earned her a level stare, but she was adamant. "I do not want to be with all those und - others like me. Is there another place you can take me?"
Kerrig scratched the coarse dark beard along his heavy jaw, his eyes thoughtful. "There is a place I can take you - but there are many others like me, and many other races of the Horde. Are you prepared to meet them?"
The Horde....bits of stories flickered in her head, terrible stories about the savage orcs, the man-eating trolls, the bestial Tauren.....then the stories of evil ravening undead. There is far more to this than silly stories. I must find out for myself. "I am ready," she said, her voice cracking, but her jaw set. Kerrig nodded approvingly. He drew a small object from his pack, and chanted over it briefly. It began to glow, and with a resonant growl, a great white wolf appeared at his side.
"Then we go," he said, "to Orgrimmar."
