Warcraft Fan Fiction ❯ Both Sides Now ❯ Perspectives ( Chapter 5 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Authors Note: This chapter is not about my character, Una, but a collection of tales from the events of some of my other characters.  These tales are meant to explain the motivations and lives of those Una encounters.  I also introduce a character in this chapter who will have an intimate role in Una’s journey later in the story.

Thanks to KooriRoninheart, Ausable Tahawus, Rooietroll, and Baroark for your reviews!  ^_^  You guys rock!

Huge thanks go to KooriRoninheart for beta reading this for me! *HUGS*  Thanks Sis!

This chapter is NSFW.  You have been warned.

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I.) Home
The Barrens, Kalimdor

Captain Garrack Backbreaker gazed dispassionately at the clouds and he guided his wagon back to his farmstead.  Another line of black, angry clouds seethed on the horizon.  He could almost feel sorry for the Night Elves and Draenei that lived in Darkshore.  As strong as these storms were to penetrate into the Barrens, they had to be hellacious on the coast.  Silent lightning arced between and within them and the air already smelled of rain.

The warrior cursed in Orcish and spat in contempt off the side of his wagon.

Rain, he could live with.  Hell, if he could get something other than weeds to grow in his fields, he’d be elated.  His family would save a great deal of coin if they could simply grow their own hay and grain to feed their livestock.  It was the flash floods he could do without.  The soil was too dry to allow any of the rain that fell to soak in, so it pooled on the surface and ran in torrents through long-dry creek and riverbeds.  While he had settled his family on a sheltered high point, storms always worried him especially now with a new baby on the way.

He frowned deeper as Tallak came into view.  The brown haired orc was seated on Garrack’s favorite chair, leaning against the wall of his home with his bow across his lap.  Dagan’s and his wolves were but two shadows moving in the high grass as they prowled the borders of his farm.

The hunter had his own wife and children to return to in Orgrimmar; and, Garrack’s wife and daughters were more than a match for most of the threats in the Barrens.  They weren't blood, but they were of the same clan which was just as good.  The quiet orc would stay for only one reason.  The warrior felt a hopeful smile form upon his lips.

“Much more and we won’t need to look for water for the Birthing Ceremony.”  Tallak commented as he pulled the wagon to a halt.  As if to punctuate his remark, a loud, pained moan emanated from the house.

“About damn time!”  The captain said, nodding in satisfaction.  “Was thinking my leave would end before she popped.  Sounds like I’m just in time.”

“Yeah, she’s been at it since about an hour after you left.”  Tallak said simply, climbing up onto the wagon to take the leads from him.

“Thrall still up to performing the Ceremony later?”  He asked, climbing stiffly down once the hunter was situated.  He had injured his knee at some point during the skirmish, but their medic had patched him up real good.  The captain knew he'd be recovered and ready for duty by the time his leave was up.

“Yeah. His clan and all.” Tallak grunted in confirmation and took the wagon around to the back as Garrack stepped inside.

His eldest daughter was sitting naked on the wooden birthing stool he had made for her, resting before the next contraction hit.  Basya’s hands rubbed her belly as she panted heavily, as if to soothe the child within.  The ground beneath the U-shaped stool was damp with fluids.

Given the squeamishness of a few of Anaru’s men, the captain was glad her labor had held off until after they left.  Privacy wasn’t a luxury they had out here in the Barrens and little facts like that were often hard for humans to swallow.  It was still amazing to him, given he knew city-dwelling humans had given up one-room dwellings not all that long ago.  In rural areas, many still lived like that.  But somehow they still clung to odd concepts of privacy and modesty.

His wife was healing a wound on Dagan’s arm, watched closely by his youngest, Kaia.  Garrack guessed she was trying to prevent Basya from accidentally reopening the wounds during a contraction.  His son-in-law was practically a walking bruise already.  Dagan's commander and squad would have a field day with him when he returned to his unit.

“Greetings, Love.”

“Papa!”  Kaia bounded over to embrace him.

“Lok’tar… Greatfather!”  Dagan flashed him his best shit-eating grin as he released his youngest.  Garrack merrily slapped him on the back as he passed.

“Hello, Papa.”  Basya greeted breathlessly as he knelt beside her.  His eldest was sweating profusely, her dampened brown hair clinging to her skin.  “Warning you now… I’m going to get a little loud…”  She paused to breathe, “…very shortly.”

Garrack chuckled and stroked her face, “I’ve been through this three times – remember?”

Basya nodded, sucking in a deep breath as another contraction approached.  He gave her his off hand to grasp, knowing from experience not to offer his sword hand.  She groaned, her face contorting in pain and concentration.  Her hand closed around his like a vice.

“Remember to breathe through the contraction, Honey.”  His wife reminded, giving Dagan’s other injuries another quick look.  He knew from the look on her face she approved of Private Whitebrook's handiwork.

The captain had to admit, the elf girl had done a fine job patching everyone up.  He was pleased with himself for insisting she come inside with the rest of the troops.  It would have been a damn shame to lose her with the other recruits.  There was some real talent there; all she needed now was experience.

Just as the bones in his hand started the creak from the force of her grasp, his daughter relaxed and released him.  She panted heavily, returning to rubbing her rounded abdomen.  The woman shifted on the stool, as if trying to make herself comfortable.

“I can’t sit on this…!”  Basya gasped after a few moments and started to rise unsteadily.  Her hand was clasped to the bottom of her belly, her entire body shuddering.  Garrack helped her to rise, glancing to his wife for confirmation.

“Whatever you find most comfortable, Dear.”  Meigmoga said with a nod.  It wasn’t often issues of comfort were discussed either.  “Dagan, put one of the skins down for her.  I think she’s going to want to squat or sit.”

“Sit...”  The woman agreed in a groan.

The hunter moved quickly, taking one of the animal skins from the pile and following them as Basya moved to the wall.  He laid it down and then helped his father-in-law lower her to the ground.  

She was soon rocked by another contraction.  Dagan slipped behind her, putting his legs on either side of her body, and then pulled her back so she was propped against him.  The hunter tenderly caressed her forehead and offered her his arms to grasp.

“Got to be getting close.”  Garrack said as his wife knelt between their daughter’s legs.  Basya’s chin was tucked into her chest as she gave a loud, long groan.

His beloved wife smiled in agreement as she examined Basya, slipping practiced fingers into the birth canal.  “She’s ready.  It’s up to the little one now.”  Meigmoga rose to move her birthing supplies closer.  “Basya, let me know when you need to push.”

Their eldest gave a slight nod, her knuckles pale as she clenched Dagan’s arm.

Garrack stood to help his wife. After being married to a healer for so many years, he could recognize some of the items she would need.  He picked up a basket of medical supplies and glanced briefly around for anything else he thought she might need.  It was these rare times where he once more felt like he did back in Nagrand and in a proper clan.

They had been young newly weds when they came to Azeroth, crazed with the Blood of Mannoroth.  Once freed of the Blood Curse, they had taken to the mountains.  

They had hoped to find the legendary Frostwolf Clan.  They had heard rumors that the survivors of Garrack’s clan had joined them in their remote village.  With little knowledge of where they might be, aside from deep in the Alterac Mountains, they set out into the wilds.

They spent years managing to stay one step ahead of the trackers, living off the wilderness and never staying in one location long.  Meigmoga eventually became pregnant and within a very short time started suffering from complications.  Slowed due to her frequent illnesses, their freedom came to an abrupt end.  They were quickly found and taken to an internment camp in the lowlands.  The Warden, though still cruel, had found pity for the young orc couple.  Given the era, they assumed the Warden couldn't openly display his honor and compassion.  She kept the barracks clean and they kept her warm and decently fed.  Garrack, the son of a farmer, was eventually shown to the Warden’s vineyards.

When she went into labor, a Midwife was sent for.  The Warden had cruel, insulting explanations ready for this additional kindness, but Garrack appreciated it all the same.  He spent most of the labor and delivery all but pissing himself in fear.  Basya’s birth had been extremely difficult; he had nearly lost both his wife and daughter in the process.

The captain prayed to the Ancestors that this birth would be as easy as their second daughter, Dagda, and their youngest, Kaia.

“Grab those blankets too, Garrack.”  Meigmoga took the basket from him and pointed to a several woven blankets draped over an armor rack.

The warrior strode over and picked up the expertly woven, feather soft baby blankets.  The weave was clearly Tauren in style, but in patterns he was unfamiliar with. He frowned deeply, “These are too fine to stain with blood and Life Water… it’s wasteful. Do we have something less…?”

“Those were gifts from Nantan and Honovi.”  Meigmoga interrupted, “They intended for them to be used for the birth.”

The Captain shrugged and draped them over his arm.  The Tauren couple had strange ways, but he wasn’t one to question the wisdom of Druids.  For all he knew, the blankets were imbued with Druidic magic.  He knelt beside his wife, grimacing inwardly as pain shot through his injured knee for the first time since the battle.

Dagan had pulled his right arm from Basya’s grasp and his fingers rested between her spread legs.  He was muttering into her sweat soaked hair and kissed her neck as she strained under a fresh contraction.  Garrack was both amused and impressed by his son-in-law’s calm fascination with the entire process.

He glanced up at Kaia.  The teenager was staring intently at her sister, a variety of expressions dancing across her youthful face.

“You could be down here helping…”  Garrack grumbled loudly.  His injured knee felt like he’d knelt on a dagger.  He rose stiffly, flexing his leg several times in an attempt to ease the pain.  “I’m not a healer.”

Kaia shook her head ardently, her face suddenly pale.

“You wanted to be a shaman.”  He reminded her sternly and pointed to Basya, “Even if you choose to wield axes like your sisters, you'll be called on to heal from time to time.”

The teenager shook her head once more as Basya cried out in pain.

“When you were little, you use to stuff a doll up your shirt and pretend you were pregnant often enough...”

“Papa!  Papa!  I’m having a baby!”  Tallak called from outside in a falsetto impression of Kaia as a child.  The youngster startled, obviously forgetting the quiet hunter was still present.

Garrack smirked up at her as Tallak cast a few more mocking jabs.  The hunter's taunts were having a better effect on her than his trying to reason with her.

Embarrassed and sullen, Kaia drifted to the far wall.  Shaking his head at her spoiled behavior, he directed his attention back to his other daughter and soon-to-be-born grandchild.  He’d deal with her later.

Basya’s latest contraction ended with a distinct grunt.  Garrack remembered his own wife making those noises all those years ago.  Maggie arched one eyebrow and scooted closer to her daughter.  The flesh between her legs was starting to distend as the child moved ever closer to the world.  He tossed all but one blanket over his shoulder and knelt back down beside her.

Basya seemed to sense her time was near.  Her brown eyes were wide as she evaluated what she was feeling.  Her voice was oddly conversational as she stated, “I’m going to push.”

“Then push!”  Her mother said.

The command was unnecessary; she was already bearing down, her body shaking with effort.  A blood curdling scream erupted from her.

Garrack mentally commanded the weakness to leave him.  He loathed when women or children screamed.  It reminded him too much of slaughtered Draenei women and children.  It affected his nerves and made his knees weak.  From conversations with other Veterans, he knew he wasn't alone.  

He focused on the space between her legs where his grandchild would emerge, just as he had been forced to do for each of his daughters.  Keeping his mind on the little one about to enter the world had always helped his nerves.  However, Dagan’s hand still obscured his view.

Basya sucked in a breath and pushed once again; her howls of pain becoming fiercer.  Blood started to well on the hunter’s other arm as his daughter’s clenched hands reopened the same wound Meigmoga had healed.  He didn’t seem to notice.

“I think I feel the head…”  Dagan’s grin was impossibly huge as his fingers probed his wife’s vaginal area.  Basya brought her own hand down to touch her child briefly before bringing it back up to clutch his arm.  

The healer gently swatted his hand away.

Garrack could see a small, pale circle of scalp with a few whorls of sparse dark hair framed in her folds as the child crowned.  His daughter cried out as she bore down once more.  

Gradually, the circle widened as she continued pushing.  Then with an almost startling abruptness, the baby’s head emerged fully accompanied by a gush of Life-Water and a shriek of agony from Basya.

“Hold for a second!”  Meigmoga cupped the tiny head with one hand as she hurriedly slipped the fingers of her opposite hand inside to check if the cord was present. She relaxed and ordered her daughter to continue pushing.

Moments later the slick, pale green body of his grandson slipped into his wife’s waiting hands.

“A strong little boy!”  The shaman crowed as Garrack handed her a syringe.  The newborn was already attempting to breathe and let out a thin, gurgling cry.  She skillfully cleared the infant’s airways and then flipped the child onto his stomach to slap his tiny back a couple times.  The baby sucked in a breath and released a healthy scream.  

From outside, he could hear Tallak’s elated bellow.

Basya had fallen back against Dagan, spent but triumphant.  His son-in-law lifted her head and kissed her.

Garrack returned his gaze to his grandson as his wife finished examining the newborn.  He pulled a couple strands of twine from the basket as she readied a small knife.  She pulled the twine from his fingers, tied the still pulsing Life-cord off, and then severed the connection between mother and child.  

Meigmoga met his eyes with a loving gaze as she lifted the infant.  He held out his blanket covered arms to accept the child, wrapped him loosely, and then handed him back.  

She began to briskly wipe the blood and remains of the birth from the newborn’s body with the edges of the blanket.  The little one’s scream strengthened further with the stimulation, his diminutive face flushed as he wailed.

She discarded the wet, stained blanket and passed his grandson back to him so he could wrap him in a fresh blanket.  Garrack smiled proudly down at the new life in his arms and then passed him to his parents.

Basya stared at her long-awaited child, her eyes filled with joy and clearly no longer noticing her pain.  Dagan’s face had assumed a look of pure wonderment as his wife inspected their newborn son.

“Picked out a name yet?”  Garrack asked softly as his wife readied a bowl for the afterbirth.

“Tarod.”  Dagan said reverently, examining his son’s tiny, clenched fists.  Basya finally lifted her eyes from the baby, looking into her husband’s face and they exchanged another kiss.

Garrack nodded, recognizing Dagan’s late father’s name; it was an honorable and wise choice.

Outside, a soft rumble of thunder rolled across the sky like a contented purr.  The Captain decided it would be a great story to tell Tarod when he became a great shaman how his very birth broke a drought.

II.) Ends & Justifications
Stormwind City, Elwynn Forest, Eastern Kingdoms

“If you're sure then.  I hate to lose you.”  Anaru said wearily.

“I'm sure.  I'm not cut out for this.”  Thompson replied, once again offering him his Argent Dawn insignia.

The brown haired paladin sighed and solemnly accepted the badge.  He pensively turned it over in his hand, watching the light glint off symbol of the Argent Dawn and Thompson’s engraved name.  

This was yet another blow in a series of events he'd rather forget.

The loss of six men, while understandable given the circumstances, was still a grave loss.  Powell had regained consciousness briefly and told him he would return if he could.  Ludger was incredibly unhappy about being placed on medical leave; but, this was the Dwarf's fourth concussion while under his command.  While Anaru needed no reassurances about his return, he needed to know the next blow to the head wouldn't kill the Demolitionist.  However, two more out was still another loss.  

A ninth was just adding insult to injury.

“Take care of yourself, man.”  The elf said, clasping the human's hand in a firm handshake.

“You too, Sir.”  Thompson gave him a final salute and walked into the cathedral.

Anaru watched him go and with a heavy heart began making his way through Stormwind City's crowded streets.  

He never encountered the confrontations or accusations his cousin mentioned, but he figured it was probably a combination of luck and his almost instinctive use of old Order of the Silver Hand gestures. Which was good, all things considered.

After a long, heart-to-heart discussion with his father, Anaru had come to accept Silvermoon’s decision to join the Horde.  He didn’t necessarily agree with a large number of choices the Sun Prince and his countrymen had made, but he could accept and forgive.

However, Anaru had a good feeling that wouldn’t endear him to the High Elves of Stormwind or – more importantly – to his Aunt and Uncle.  He wasn’t entirely sure what he had done to provoke their wrath last visit, but his Uncle had made his dislike very plain.    

In arguments he was at a disadvantage by having a profound case of l'esprit d'escalier: he could never come up with a proper comeback until well after the fact.  The one time in his life he had managed to outwit his Grandfather in a debate with a well-timed comeback was still a source of great pride.  Of course, his Grandfather had never debated him with malicious intent.  While his Grandfather was certainly capable of malice, it was never towards him and never in cold blood.

Uncle Ferran and Aunt Tyalaria had no such handicap. His uncle expertly knew how to push his buttons; even those Anaru didn’t know he had.  Aunt Tyalaria was much sneakier and manipulative.  She didn't have to push his buttons, she'd trick him into saying something incriminating or demeaning that would leave him doubting himself for days.  Last time, they had restrained themselves, likely to avoid conflict with Una.

Frankly, he didn’t have the heart at the moment to deal with his family.  Anaru had done his best to avoid the districts they were known to frequent as he delivered the grave news to the men’s families.  Their families’ reactions ranged from quiet acceptance to hysterics and weeping to doors being slammed in his face.  

Now that he had accomplished all his duties in Stormwind he needed to visit the Mage Quarter for a portal back to either Theramore or Orgrimmar.  He had to debrief Warchief Thrall and decide on their next course of action.

He was almost to the Wizard's Sanctum and soon he would be away from the city and back to work.

“Anaru!”  A male voice barked furiously.  A very familiar voice.

The paladin froze, his eyes wide.  Uncle Ferran.  He counted to ten, trying to calm his racing heart, and turned around slowly.  “Yes, Uncle?”

His Uncle was stalking towards him with ill-controlled anger.  His once green eyes were squinted, as though he was having difficulties seeing.  Just as Una and he held a strong family resemblance, his Uncle was a mirror image of his father.  However, he couldn’t be more unlike his father in temperament.

“What did you do to my little girl?!”  He demanded, his face ugly.

“What did I do..?  Nothing!”  It would only get worse if he admitted she had been assigned to his unit, so he decided it was time to lie by omission.  “She joined the Argent Dawn, but...”

“Don't give me excuses, boy!  You convinced her to join your little sham!”

 “Good old Uncle Ferran.” Anaru muttered and pressed his hands to his face.  Might as well not even attempt pleasantries. “You're not making any sense.  The Argent Dawn was formed to fight Demons and the Scourge.  Some of us are former Knights of the Silver Hand!  It’s hardly a sham.”

“My girl idolizes you and my fool of a father!  You turned her against us with your tall tales!”

“Una... is an adult!”  Anaru growled.  “You talk as though she can’t think for herself!”

“Don’t lie.  You knew what you were doing!”  The older elf was mere inches from his face.  Rage seemed to surround the ranger like a shroud.

“How did I do that, pray tell?”  Anaru snapped, “Oh wait, I told her to find something she believed in.  Is that it?”

“You put those crazy thoughts in her head!  Eventually you’ll convince her she wants to be one of your kind too!”

“My kind!?  My kind!?  What the fuck do you mean by that?”  Anaru bellowed, growing tired of this pointless argument.  If his Uncle had an issue, he wished he would just address it directly so they could get this over with.

“You and those Blood Elves.  Traitors!  All of you!”

“By the Light… This has nothing to do with her leaving, does it?  This is more politics to you!”  The paladin laid his face in the palm of his hand, feeling a tick forming on his right cheek.  “I'm not a Blood Elf, you idiot!”  He screamed.  He would have gotten more coherent responses from a Wretched! “I haven't been in Silvermoon in ages!  I only finally spoke with my father a month ago!  Una has no interest in the Horde!”

“Liar!”  Ferran bellowed.

The younger elf palmed his face once more.  This was getting him nowhere.  He sucked in deep breaths, once more attempting to calm down.

“Yes, I thought so.  Filthy Blood Elf.  Can’t think without sucking down some magic, can you?”  The ranger spat at him. “She's too good for the likes of you.  Filth!  You're a disgrace to this family.  I'm embarrassed to be seen with you.”

Anaru’s vision went red for a moment before he managed to calm himself.  He resisted the distinct urge to strike his father’s brother.  Not only was it against his principles, but the last thing he needed was to be thrown in the Stockade.  He growled quietly, “Then why the hell are you still screaming at me, asshole?”

He knew the punch was coming and he braced himself for it.  After all, it was how Uncle Ferran and his father’s arguments always ended.  His Uncle's fist collided with his jaw, snapping his head around.  He spat the bloody spittle from his mouth and wiped his lips with the back of his gauntlet.  He glared balefully at his Uncle.

Their exchange had drawn a crowd.  The ranger was looking towards the Wizard's Sanctum, looking somewhat alarmed.  He strode off rather quickly.

“Crazy old man.”  He muttered in Thalassian, dabbing his bleeding lips with his fingers.  The paladin wasted a bit of mana to heal the split.

A soft step on the gravel behind him made him jump slightly in surprise.  He could see a blonde human mage in pink and white robes in his peripheral vision.  Anaru understood now why his Uncle had retreated.

He turned briskly to salute and kneel before the woman respectfully.  He knew he was overdoing his court manners, but it felt right given the circumstances.  “Lady Proudmoore.  Please forgive the... that exchange.”

“Commander Whitebrook.”  Jaina Proudmoore curtsied in response and gestured for him to rise. “No apologies are necessary.  That was certainly awkward.”

“Still, I must apologize.  I wished to avoid a scene such as this.  I was merely seeking to charter a portal...  I fear there's family politics involved to which I am not privy...”  He realized belatedly that he was starting to ramble in embarrassment.

“Commander Whitebrook!”  She exclaimed, indicating for him to stop.  “Please, there is no need for apologies.”

Lady Jaina Proudmoore always managed to amaze him.  They were introduced years ago when he was but a squire under his Grandfather's command.  This was perhaps only the third time they had met and she still remembered his name.

“Thank you, Lady Proudmoore.” Anaru felt his face was warm all the way to the tips of his ears.

“If I may be so bold, where did you need to go?”  She asked at length.

Anaru took a deep breath and stood tall once more.  “I require passage to either Theramore or to Orgrimmar.  I must report to the Warchief Thrall regarding a mission my team recently completed.  Lady, I fear you might have a Death Cult near your borders.”

“That is grave news.  I will open a portal to Orgrimmar.  Please send word if you uncover more news regarding this cult.”

Anaru bowed once more and touched his fingers to his forehead.  “I will, My Lady.”

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III.) Standing Alone
Manaforge Coruu, Netherstorm, Outlands

Unearthly violet lightning flashed in seething, sky filled with gaseous mana and nether energy.  Great peals, crashes, and hisses of thunder battered their ears constantly. It was a broken, blasted, and desolate landscape of purplish-gray stone with deep crevices and sharply jutting stones.  Dangers lurked behind every turn.  Massive chunks of rock floated unnaturally in the air as if they were children’s balloons, some steady and others moving erratically.

Blood Knight Initiate Welan Whitebrook gazed down at the trio of desiccated corpses before him in horror; all that remained of their best researcher and her two ranger bodyguards.  While corpses out here did tend to mummify rather than rot, this was unnatural.  They had last been seen just under an hour ago.  Yet they were in full rigor and their bodies dried out as though they been dead for weeks.

Behind him, the conduit hissed and buzzed with the energy they were siphoning off for Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider and Tempest Keep.  It overpowered nearly all other sounds at this tiny lip of rock at the edge of the world.  This was a remote section behind the Manaforge, any number of things could have happened to them.  Though if it were humanoid, they could have easily disposed of the evidence by shoving the corpses off into the nether where they would never be found or recovered.

“Where the HELL are those Blood Knights?”  He growled to his companion.  He rubbed the back of his head, not quite caring at the moment that he was mussing his carefully styled, short brown hair.  In fact, at the moment he felt almost compelled to tear his hair out in frustration.

Technically, he wasn’t supposed to even be in Outland.  He had wanted to go, but was barred due to his inexperience.  By his people’s standards, he wasn’t even quite an adult yet.  However, Welan excelled at his coursework and had spent many hours formally learning the art of combat.

After standing in Anaru’s shadow for so long, he wanted nothing more than to push his favored brother off his pedestal.  Even if only for a moment.  

His Father, the illustrious and well-connected Magister Eilonel Whitebrook, had pulled strings, called in favors, and somehow secured a position as a bodyguard to Spellbinder Maryana.

The blonde mage pressed the wide sleeve of her crimson robe to her face in disgust as she gazed down at the withered cadavers.  “I don’t know.  Seylanna was contacting Tempest Keep for assistance…”

Behind him came similar mutters from the complement of Sunfury Rangers that had just arrived on the scene from the nearby Sunfury Hold.

The response was unanimous:  No one had seen a single Blood Knight in over an hour aside from himself.  

Wherever they had gone, they had left the Manaforge completely unprotected.

“They can get their asses over here and make themselves useful for once!”  Welan roared.  Under normal circumstances, his outburst would have been met with swift punishment from the resident Blood Knight Commander, Ashal Orlinde.

Today, only silence met his cry.

Orlinde was from Anaru’s class at the Academy and had been the bane of nearly all the Cadets and Initiates.  Nothing was ever quite good enough to please the black-haired paladin.  His punishments were humiliating at best and at worst cruel.  All because he, like his brother, were paladins before the destruction of the Sunwell.  Somehow, Orlinde felt that made him better than everyone else.

The male’s corpse moved suddenly, rolling halfway onto his back.

“I thought you said they were dead!”  A ranger shouted in panic.

“They… are…”  Welan said slowly, his eyes widening in fear.  He couldn’t sense any undead nearby and none of the bodies had a pulse when he checked them either.

“What is…?”  Maryana started to say, but her voice died in her throat.

“Run.”  He whispered to the mage as the female corpse’s belly began to move, the skin still bizarrely elastic.  The movement was slowly moving up her torso, her shriveled breasts rising and falling under her shirt as though breathing. He raised his voice as much as he dared, “Run! Now!”

She obeyed, self preservation winning over her horrified curiosity.

“Go!”  He said in a hushed voice to the rangers. “I’ll hold it off!”  He heard them move en masse to cover Spellbinder Maryana as she ran.

Welan lunged forward, thrusting his arms under the first ranger’s lifeless shell.  Something hissed ominously from within. He threw the corpse as hard as he could over the edge and scrambled back.  

He seized the second ranger’s corpse by the ankle just as the belly lurched sharply upward.  A feral growl came from the body as he dragged it quickly to the edge.  Something pale and slimy broke through with a snarl and a flash of teeth, but the paladin kicked the corpse as hard as he could.  It slid, teetering for a moment on the edge and then corpse and creature vanished into the abyss.

“Welan!”  Maryana screamed. “Come on!”

He turned back from the edge and his shout for her to keep running died before it crossed his lips.

The researcher’s body was twitching as something crawled its way up her throat.  A glistening, white tentacle emerged from her mouth and caressed the dead Sin’dorei’s cheek.

“Welan! Run!”

The paladin drew his sword and side-stepped slowly around, never turning his back on the corpse.

The back arched and the mouth yawned wide.  The once-beautiful elf’s lips and cheeks stretched and tore as the white thing emerged.  Slimy, pale, and apparently blind, the creature moved around it as though searching for him.  Despite appearing boneless and living inside the body of another, a mouth filled with rows of serrated teeth sucked in breaths of air.

Welan darted forward, swinging his sword in a vicious overhead sweep.  Impossibly, the beast seemed to sense him at the last moment and flattened.  A divine storm raged around him as he spun on the balls of his feet and brought his sword around for a second attempt.

Something pale and white shot at him from the creature’s mouth. It went wide, vanishing into the rocky outcrop behind him.

Welan slammed into it with an explosion of Light, stunning it. He brought his sword down, cleaving it in two.

He kicked the parasite’s carcass with all the strength he could muster, launching it over the edge.

Panting, he turned back to the researcher’s remains.  It was still now, the face and head mutilated from the parasite.  He lifted the ruined body up cautiously, almost tenderly, walked her to the edge, and dropped her over.

Something struck him in the back with startling force.  He stumbled sideways into the conduit.  Welan’s armor withstood the unexpected attack and he spun around to look for his assailant.

There was nothing there.

Something hissed and then dropped to the ground with a wet plop.  The Initiate spun, his green eyes falling on a small, worm-like creature.  It hissed, growled, and made an alarmingly large leap for something that tiny.

He pivoted out of the way and gazed down at it with a curled lip as the worm landed.  He realized this must have been what the creature spat at him.

Welan stomped his foot and cast all the holy power he could muster into the ground at his feet.  Light shown between the cracks in the stones and spread like water.  The larva sizzled, popped, and crackled as the energy cooked it from the inside out.  It finally lay still, continuing to burn with his power until it was a greasy, blackened slick on the barren rocks.

Shouts came from above him, breaking through the steady buzz of the conduit.  Riding Dragonhawks circled the Manaforge as troops from Tempest Keep arrived.

Welan trudged up the hill, still catching his breath.  Maryana and Seylanna were talking animatedly with one of Tempest Keep’s elite guardsmen.

The Blood Knight spotted him and shouted, “You! Boy!”

Welan sucked in a breath and jogged to him, snapping to attention when he reached them.

“Spellbinder Maryana says you fought a creature.  Some sort of parasite?”

“Yes, Sir.  It’s dead.”

The Blood Knight Master stared at him, “You’re an Initiate, do I have this straight?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“How did you even make the cut?”  He demanded, gazing down at him in amazement.

Maryana stepped forward, “He was assigned as my bodyguard.  Until today, he has simply been a companion.  He truly was amazing.”

Welan felt his cheeks and ears warm at the unexpected praise. “Please, I do not deserve this praise, Lady.  The parasites were not as strong as most creatures in this region.”

“He used his head!”  The mage persisted. “He cast the others into nether so he only had to contend with one.”

Shouts sounded as riders appeared from the north.  The Sun Prince’s standard held high, the glowing, crimson gems visible even from a distance.  Among them, a white hawkstrider and three brilliantly glowing green spheres were clearly visible.

Minutes later, Prince Kael’thas and a regiment of Elite Blood Knights arrived.  Sandwiched in the middle of the regiment was the missing knights.

Welan knelt beside Maryana, feeling himself tense as the Blood Knight that had questioned him approached the Prince.  They traded quiet words momentarily.

Commander Orlinde was in chains, his hands bound behind his back.  He was violently pulled from the saddle, led up the path, and forced to his knees before the Prince.

“Commander Orlinde.”  The Prince addressed him without preamble and loud enough for everyone to hear. “What was the meaning of leaving my Manaforge undefended?”

Orlinde’s voice shook as he spoke, “I spied an encampment of demons not more than three miles from our location, Sire.  I felt they posed an immediate threat.”

“So you left the Manaforge undefended to pursue them…” Prince Sunstrider said, his voice clipped.  “What was the protocol I set in place when we arrived?”

He didn’t give the paladin a chance to answer as he continued, “Ah yes, you were supposed to immediately contact Tempest Keep for assistance.”

Welan sucked in a breath as the Sun Prince paced close.  He gestured down at the Initiate kneeling before him with an elegantly manicured hand.

“Meanwhile we have a young Initiate who followed protocol to the letter, Commander Orlinde.  He alone defended my lieutenant.”  The Prince outwardly sounded calm, but from his own family, Welan could tell he was livid.  He wasn’t speaking the entire truth either; but, it was clear to Welan that both of them were being made into examples.  “Does that not seem… odd to you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”  The black haired knight gritted out.

“Initiate Whitebrook.”  Kael’thas said crisply, not turning around.  “Arise.”

Welan jumped to his feet and stood at attention, not quite able to believe the Prince was actually addressing him, “Yes, Your Majesty?”

The Prince turned to face him, “Your exceptional demonstration of skill and bravery is to be commended.”

Welan felt dizzy. “T.. thank you, Your Majesty!”

Prince Kael’thas inclined his blond head to the young elf and then turned his attention back to the Blood Knight in chains.  “However, you are a different matter, Ashal Orlinde.  Your rash decision to attack the Burning Legion placed both my Manaforge and an entire company of Blood Knights in jeopardy.” He gestured once more at Welan. “That is something I would expect from a child, not a Master Blood Knight.”

“My most humble apologies, Sire.”  Commander Orlinde sounded genuinely terrified. Welan felt a stab of pity for the other paladin, but not much.

“So I think it would be most appropriate if you took Initiate Whitebrook’s rank and title and he assumed yours.”

---------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------

IV.) Lost in Thought
Orgrimmar, Durotar, Kalimdor

Anaru was seized by the shoulders slammed into the rough hewn planks of a woodshed.  He caught the briefest glimpse of his horse, Jet, before he was roughly spun into the stifling darkness of the structure.  His armored chest struck the inside wall.  A practiced leg brusquely parted his own and leather clad hands roughly positioned his hands over his head.

Dusty light filtered through the gaps between the boards, and the aroma of an exotic and somewhat rare perfume tickled his nose.  It was a scent he knew all too well.

Those same hands deftly removed his sword belt and then straps holding his leg armor.  The woman behind him allowed them to fall loudly to the dirt floor before returning to undo his belt.  That too was pulled free and allowed to fall to the floor.  The hands vanished and returned, bare and rough from years of wielding a sword.  They slid under his leathers, caressing his belly, hips, and then his lower abdomen.

“You. Ignored. Me.”  Esmea Sunrunner’s voice growled in Thalassian, emphasizing each word.  His girlfriend’s hands thrust beneath the waistband of his leathers and closed abruptly around his length, forcing a gasp from his lips.

Anaru grunted sharply, sucking his breath in.  “Sorry!”  He rasped breathlessly.  He had absolutely no doubt he was in trouble, though truth be told, this wasn’t the sort of trouble he exactly minded being in.

“Blew right past me.”  She hissed, her right hand still clasping his penis tightly while her left caressed his lower stomach. “I even called to you.”

“Emmie…” The paladin gasped sharply as her hands withdrew to yank his pants and shorts down to fully reveal his arousal.  She wasn’t exactly gentle as her hands cupped and teased him.  Her ministrations were downright torture.

“Don’t “Emmie” me!” The lady knight said sharply, “You become too distracted!  What am I to do…?”

The door behind them slammed open, covering them in harsh, burning sunlight.  An orc male’s voice bellowed for them to halt.

“At ease,”  Anaru said with difficulty. “My girlfriend is punishing…” His voice cut off sharply as she began to expertly pump his heated flesh.

The Guard uttered a low, knowing chuckle and the door shut quietly.  The orc’s steps receded into the distance and the quiet hush of the Drag returned.

“I am surprised,”  Esmea purred in his ear, speeding up her rhythm.  “Last guard to catch us wanted to watch.”

“You were naked at the time…”  He said through gritted teeth as she continued to pump his throbbing cock, all the while her left hand continued teasing him.

“I bet you’d like that now, wouldn’t you?”  She whispered into his ear.  “Too bad I have the upper hand.”

Anaru smirked.  He spun, seized her in a wrestling move, and pinned her to the floor.

Esmea laid there, staring up at him in shock.  Her long, red hair was pulled back in a simple braid that he found quite attractive.  Her breasts rose and fell rapidly under a simple leather and mail breastplate; only leather leggings barred her from him.

“Checkmate.”  Anaru growled and kissed her fiercely.

“I suppose this is where you ravish me.”  She said with a laugh, already undoing her sword belt.

“Yes, something like that.”  He replied, hurriedly pulling her leathers down her legs just far enough to reach her.

Anaru thrust deeply into her, relishing how she felt around him.  Esmea stroked his neck and kissed his chin as he sated his lust.  It didn’t take long before the release came.

“Feel better?”  She asked as he got off her.

“I’ll make it up to you later,”  Anaru said, noting the slight pout upon the red head’s lips.  He normally enjoyed the challenge of bringing her to orgasm. He rose and pulled his girlfriend to her feet.  “But I need to get back to Ratchet.”

“You’d best make it up to me!”  Esmea said, pulling her leggings back up and belting them.  “You get lost in your head so often; I periodically have to set up a blockade.”

He chuckled as he redressed himself, “That was a “blockade?”  Seemed more like “full-scale assault.””

“Oh, you haven’t seen that yet.”  She replied, brushing the dust off her leathers.  The Blood Knight Master undid her braid and shook out her hair to remove some of the debris from the floor of the woodshed.  Once she was satisfied, the woman quickly rebraided it.  How she could do it so quickly and without a mirror still impressed him. “Are you complaining?”

“Not in the least.”

The Drag was still empty when they emerged from the shed and mounted their horses.  In the heat of the day, few were outside in the full sun, preferring instead to keep to the shady canyon streets and cool, cavern-like buildings.

“I met Una.”  Esmea finally remarked as they passed through the Gates of Orgrimmar.  “She’s sweet, just like I remember.  A bit repressed, though.”

“At least she’s one of my sane relatives.”  He replied with a shrug.

“True.”  The woman was forced to agree, having already met some of his family.  “I suppose I’ll have to make the most of this mission to corrupt her a little.”
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