Part 8: I do not normally do this

“Do you notice, Thero’shan, how the mud is changing in consistency the further North we go?”

“No, Shan’do. I’m afraid that fact has eluded me. I was observing the rain. The drops are becoming smaller, which aids in the penetration of cloth such as that which is presently on my back.”

“Only low-order minds, Thero’shan…”

“I know Shan’do. I am also studying the change in the temperature of my skin.”

Teacher laughed. “You are a cold fire mage? Shame on you, my student. Feel my arm.”

Ellandriel did, and found that Teacher was quite warm, despite the cold rain and the omnipresent mud.

“I knew a woman once, who would walk around in the snow wearing nothing but her underwear, with everyone else packed up in a whole herd worth of yeti fur. Just to show everyone how well she was able to control her body temperature. Needless to say, she did not lack for people offering to keep her warm by other means, freeing up her body magic for more important things.” Teacher grinned, eyes fondly looking miles away. “Shameless hussy. Inspired a whole range of art.”

“Um…” Ellandriel looked in front of her feet. There were certain things that you didn’t want to imagine your parents doing, nor your Teacher, thank you very much.

“But be that as it may, try using a very very gentle Combustion spell on yourself. That will keep you nice and toasty.”

Ellandriel slowly turned her face towards Teacher’s. Combustion was a fairly heavy attack spell. She’d been concentrating on making it burn brighter. Teacher laughed, put an arm round Ellandriel’s shoulders.

“Yes, that was a joke, my Student. Simply channel a very small amount of fire magic into your body’s core, and it will induce you to produce more heat. You will be hungry sooner, but that hardly matters does it?”

Ellandriel studied Teacher’s face for a few seconds to see if this was a joke, then did as she was told. Within seconds, she was steaming.

“And there you have it. Dedication to the Arcane does come with its sacrifices, but one of the rewards is warm toes, no matter what.”

Ellandriel said nothing. She looked ahead, pointed.

“There’s a road there.”

“Road? That didn’t use to be there. It seems the Humans are growing ambitious. Good for them. I hope they manage to keep it clear of mud.”

They found the road in as good repair as anyone could wish for, and marched along until they reached the gates of Theramore, the main Human settlement in Kalimdor. There was a stone gate, grassy areas. Human soldiers patrolled, or practiced swords in pairs. There were Dwarves, talking and laughing together in their strange, throaty language. Teacher went to ask one of the guards where the inn was, while Ellandriel took in the sights. There was a big yowling, yawning sound behind her, and she looked round. She took a quick breath. Behind her, a band of Night-elves had just come riding up on their black-and-white striped riding tigers. One of the warriors saw her, and grinned, rolling his shoulders. Ellandriel wanted to shrink back, but High-borne Night-elves don’t do that. She raised herself to her full height. Her face turned to stone. The warrior grinned even broader, and bent his bare arm in a way that drew rather a lot of attention to his muscles. Then, there was a shout, and all the Night-elves rode on in the direction of the Keep. There was a hand on Ellandriel’s shoulder and she looked round quickly.

“Try not to look too arcane, Thero’shan, and all will be well. Warrior men. Simply tell them how big and strong they are, and they’re like wax in your hand.”

“Those are… Keldorei.”

“Yes they are,” said Teacher. “But these are not times to be picky.”

Ellandriel looked at Teacher with eyes like saucers. “Surely, Shan’do, you are not suggesting…”

Teacher laughed, looked at Ellandriel’s face, then laughed even louder and leaned over to her.

“Let’s find the inn first, Thero’shan. First one of us to find a companion gets the room.”

Ellandriel simply stood still, staring at her teacher, who took a deep breath, and held Ellandriel’s shoulders.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Thero’shan. Stop worrying. You do not have ‘High-borne Mage’ written on your forehead. Even if you did, that brute probably couldn’t read it. Or if he did, he wouldn’t care. And even if he did care…” Teacher’s smile became suddenly grim. “You could probably knock him over long enough to get away. You are not helpless, Ellandriel. Please do not disgrace my teachings with low self-esteem.”

“Yes, Shan’do,” said Ellandriel.

Ellandriel sat at the table. Back in Eldre’thalas, the food would have seemed rather coarse to her. The cod had been fried in a batter rather than steamed in a white wine. The potatoes had been chopped into wedges, then fried with the skin still on. She had to trust the landlady that the dollop of green goo had once been peas. The wine lacked all depth of flavour, and tasted like they had caught it just before it would turn into vinegar. None of that mattered now. The food was hot, and there was a lot of it. They were in a corner of the common room, close by the double door. There was a chandelier fashioned out of a ship’s wheel, with a few candles in. Ellandriel was concentrating on her plate, when someone knocked into their table. She jumped, and looked up, into the winning smile of the Night-elf warrior.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Ellandriel gave him a look that would have frozen lesser Elves. The warrior only grinned, waved, and joined his mates at the table by the fireplace. Teacher snorted.

“Excellent. No giving away the goods too soon.”

Ellandriel sneered. “I have no intention whatsoever of giving away any ‘goods’ to that brute, now or in the future.”

Teacher picked up the glass of liquid headache that the Humans dared call ‘wine’ here. They had both red and white, so any notion of Humans being unsophisticated yokels was based on nothing but vile rumour.

“Chance companions. Met for one night of unbridled passion, then never seen again. There is something quite liberating about it, Thero’shan. You can show parts of yourself that you would keep carefully hidden from a lover of a hundred years.”

Ellandriel looked into Teacher’s eyes. “At the risk, Honoured Teacher, of repeating myself, I do not intend to show any part of myself to that… person.”

“Why not? He looks like a fine figure of an Elf. If I were you I know what I would do. But you are obviously the one he is interested in. Opportunity knocks.”

“Do you really think I am going to…” Ellandriel jerked her head in the direction of the fireplace. “With him?”

Teacher bent over to Ellandriel. “No, my Student. What I think you are going to do is to shoot upstairs into the room, bolt the door behind you and hide under the covers. I think that, because you are afraid of any shadow with long ears, even if they are your own.”

Ellandriel’s mouth fell open.

“Still,” said Teacher, pushing away an empty plate, and sitting back, “A good night’s sleep is not a bad thing. Much to be preferred over a breathless night with, I can’t help noticing, a rather energetic looking young man.”

At that moment, the bartender walked up to their table with a bottle and two glasses, which she put on the table. She pulled the cork out and poured a bit in Ellandriel’s glass. Ellandriel looked up, and swallowed. She had noticed the one-eyed woman behind the bar earlier, and didn’t quite know where to look.

“Um… We did not order any wine.”

“That’s right Miss. It comes from the gentleman at the table there.” The bartender bent down, and whispered. “If he gets forward with you Miss, just give me a whistle and Craig and I’ll throw the bugger out. We like all our guests to keep civil.”

Ellandriel sighed, tasted the wine. To give the Warrior his credit, it was much better than the one they’d just enjoyed. She nodded at the bartender, who filled first Teacher’s glass, then hers. Teacher looked amused.

“Shan’do, what is the etiquette for telling him to get lost?”

Teacher raised the glass to the group of Elves at the other table, nodded, then drank the wine.

“I don’t know. I never have.”

There was a cough. Ellandriel was not surprised to see the warrior standing by their table. From the table by the fireplace, his friends were watching with interest whether he would return to them with his personality intact.

“Ishnu dal-dieb,” said the warrior. Good fortune to your family. He put his hand on his breast and bowed to them.

“Ishnu-alah, Soldier,” said Teacher, “And thank you for the wine. It is of much better quality than the House Red.”

“We have been coming here for a while. They do not squander their good wines on the transients, however worthy.”

“That is wisdom,” said Teacher. “Will you join us? There is, I think, a glass or two left in the bottle.”

Ellandriel felt like kicking her Honoured Teacher under the table. The warrior bowed, sat down and now revealed the glass he had been hiding… well, holding behind his back. Teacher raised an eyebrow at Ellandriel, and looked pointedly at the bottle. Ellandriel sighed, picked it up and poured red wine into the warrior’s glass.

“Thank you, Lady,” said the warrior, looking into Ellandriel’s eyes. “Your good health.”

He held up his glass to her, and Ellandriel could not courteously do anything but touch her glass to his.

“And yours.”

“Where do you come from, Lady, if I may ask?”

“Feralas,” said Ellandriel.

Teacher nodded. “We have been on a journey to study the flora and fauna of that area, most notably the Quercus Feralaensis, and other species.”

The warrior nodded at Teacher, then his eyes returned to Ellandriel.

“I have been in Feralas, Lady. Fighting the Grimtotem Tauren, an uncommonly ferocious clan. I pray my work there helped keep you safe.”

“I am sure it has, Soldier,” said Teacher, standing up. “And now I must leave you, because I have to arrange for our further travel to the Eastern Kingdoms.”

Ellandriel’s jaw dropped before she could help it. Was Teacher really going to leave her alone with this large, brutish, Keldorei warrior who was probably sworn to… to kill her if he found out about her origin?

“Shan’do? You’ll need me to… to assist you, don’t you?”

“Nonsense, my apprentice. I am quite capable of booking passage on a ferry without even your assistance. Enjoy your evening.” Teacher nodded at the warrior. “Sir.”

Before Ellandriel could speak another word, Teacher had walked out of the door, leaving her with the warrior, who had a look in his eyes that combined amusement, a measure of smugness and… a few other things less easily placed.

“Lady, I must say I find your voice most intriguing. Where do you come from?”

“I…” Ellandriel closed her eyes a moment, then shook her head, and looked into the warrior’s eyes. Her voice was soft and not unkind, as she asked him. “Soldier, what is it that you want from me?”

The soldier didn’t answer immediately, as if he was considering what kind of an answer to give. Then, he laughed softly.

“My lady, you ask, and I must answer. I sense about you an air of great loneliness, and I find you very attractive. I would like to invite you to a private place, and there find a few hours of comfort in each other’s arms.”

Ellandriel stared at him. Lavish and insincere compliments, boasts about his agility with his body magic, sad stories about how lonely life in the army was, pledges of undying love at first sight, all that she could have expected. Complete frank honesty, never. She warmed to him for it, but not enough, not nearly enough.

“The bartender told me to warn her if you would get too forward with me, and she would throw you out.”

The soldier took a small sip of wine, and shrugged. “She would not need to, Lady. All it takes is a single word from you. But you asked me a question, and I answered it sincerely.”

“Do you often invite strange women into your bed?”

The warrior shook his head. “Usually, they invite me.”

“And none have done so today?”

“Luckily, no. I doubt one more beautiful than you would.”

Ellandriel thought on that remark for a while. Nobody had ever commented on her beauty before, and she suspected the motives of anyone who did. Except, this soldier had already explained his motives to her.

“I have never slept with any stranger. Why would I do so now?”

“For no other reason than the obvious. We would both enjoy it.”

“There are better reasons than that, Soldier.”

“Are there? What are they?”

“To tighten the bonds of love between lovers. To say to them that you will remain with them until the end. To heal the sorrow of those close to you. One does not squander such a gift.”

“I will not say you are wrong, Lady, but I am a warrior, and we are at war, and death is never far away, be it mine or my enemies’. ‘Until the end’ may well be measured in days, or even hours. Measured against that, every gift of pleasure is precious.” The warrior put his hand on Ellandriel’s. “Even a single touch.”

Ellandriel pulled her hand away, then felt like apologising. From his clan markings, he was about her own age. He radiated calm, quiet confidence. ‘Usually, they invite me’, indeed. She glanced at the table by the fire. The other warriors were done staring, and talked among themselves in Darnassian. She was alone with a man who could easily break her neck with his bare hands. Trained to kill without hesitation.

“How do I know that your touch will be gentle, Soldier? Warriors do not have a good reputation. I would be in a quiet place with a man of violence.”

“That is true, Lady. You are no fighter. A man of my abilities could easily do you harm, and you would be helpless to prevent it. But not I. The very reason of my existence, my training, my essence, is to protect you from harm. You are precisely who I would die to keep safe.”

Ellandriel was not convinced. This warrior was, in a way, her enemy. All she had to do was say: ‘I am Ellandriel, Fire-mage of the Shen’dralar High-borne’. He would recoil in disgust, spit at her feet for studying the unnatural magics that she did. She was not even sure that he couldn’t sense it on her somehow. He might be honour-bound to kill her for breaking her exile. She would be mad to go with him.

“How can I trust you, brave soldier?”

The warrior looked deep into her eyes, then bowed his head. “Forgive me my impertinence in asking you. I apologise if I have insulted you. Elune a’dore, Lady.”

Ellandriel’s breath stuck in her throat. Almost like a bright beam of moonlight that briefly appears from behind the clouds, shines down, and then is gone, the moment struck her. For the briefest moment, there were two Elves sitting in her chair, in the very same space. One of the Elves turned back, pushed the half-empty wine glass away from her, and slowly, quietly stood up and left, bowing her head, forever a slave to fear, forever a burden on those made of sterner stuff. The other Elf, between the time it took the soldier to stand up and half turn away from her, reached out, and touched his arm.


Hirudo the Night-elf healer stood still, and looked out over the plains. To avoid unwelcome eyes, not to mention swords, they had climbed a small mountain ridge that separated Ashenvale from the Barrens, rather than take the road that led to the Mor’shan Ramparts, brimming with Orcs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Northern Barrens, and I use the word in the loosest possible sense. We are now well and truly in Horde territory.”

“Great,” said Ariciel, searching the plains below for things unfriendly.

Hirudo nodded. “To be absolutely clear, fellow adventurers, let us try to avoid fighting as much as possible. If we have to, I would prefer it if we took the initiative. I do not wish to lose any of you needlessly.”

Mareva said a few words in her own language. Ariciel didn’t understand the words, but the sarcasm was hard to miss. Mareva had told Ariciel about the healer’s reasons for being here. But what, really, could they do? They were going in roughly the same direction for a good fifty miles. There was safety in numbers, even if some of those numbers were a little smaller than others.

Skullcrusher laughed much too loudly for Ariciel’s comfort.

“Are you afraid of a few little Orcs? Never worry. Grimm Skullcrusher is here. Do you know how I got my name?”

Mareva glanced at the warrior. “You use your skull for crushing rocks?”

“Haha! Of course not, though I forgive you for that notion, being from foreign places and not used to our speech.”

Ya idoo kuda sam Czar idyot peshkom,” said Mareva, bowing gracefully.

“I got my name for crushing the skulls of Orcs, do not ask me how many, because I cannot count them.”

Ariciel looked at Mareva behind Skullcrusher’s back and held up three fingers. Mareva snorted.

“We can take ’em,” said Ripface. “I’ll just hit ’em with me sword.”

“We do not wish to take them,” said Hirudo. “We must move like the wind, like a shadow among the shadows, unseen, unheard.”

“We can do that,” said Ariciel.

They slid down the mountainside, and made for the Dry Hills, so named because they were hills, and they were dry. From there on, they would move South, giving the Horde settlement at the Crossroads a wide berth. There, Ariciel and Mareva would turn East towards Ratchet and on to Booty Bay. Hirudo and his companions would continue South, to Theramore. They were trusting to luck not to meet any Horde patrols. Luck, sadly, failed them. Mareva saw them first, gave a cry of warning and went to one knee, pointing forward. A band of Orcs was heading roughly in the opposite direction they were.

“I do not think they have seen us,” said Mareva. “But unless they are all blind, they will.”

As the Orcs came closer, they could see that there were two groups of four, roughly fifty yards apart. The two groups were wearing different tabards. Mareva touched Ariciel’s shoulder.

“They are racing each other. I suspect that there is a reward for the group to arrive first.”

Ariciel nodded. “Hirudo? Mareva and I will circle round. We grab the last group first. I charge at them, make them look at me, and you hit them from behind. It’ll take the first group a while to realise what happened and turn around, and by that time I hope a few of them will be down. So we won’t have the entire group at once. Try to be as quiet as possible about it.”

Ariciel turned to her fast, spotted Cheetah form, Mareva to her Ghost Wolf form. Giving the groups a wide berth, they ran round, then came up behind them, easily outrunning them. When they were close enough, Ariciel changed to her Dire Bear form, and charged, growling low. The Orcs were taken completely by surprise, but still, they turned round quickly and drew swords. Mareva dropped her wolf shape, called for her totems and attacked with fire and lightning. Suddenly, her eyes grew large.

“No, no! You imbecile!”

A few dozen yards ahead of them, Skullcrusher and Ripface leapt upon the first group, with fierce battle-cries and much flourishing of blades. Hirudo, his back towards Mareva, was frantically casting healing spells on them.

Mareva kept firing, swearing profusely in Draenei. She winced as she saw Ariciel take hits from several Orcs. Bear-Ariciel breathed in deep, and roared. All the Orcs fell back for a moment, then moved back in. Mareva looked from Ariciel to their half-wit warriors. What to do? Ariciel was taking hits, but as of yet, she was not slowing down. Frankly, Mareva didn’t care what happened to the warriors. She bared her fangs, and concentrated on hitting Ariciel’s group as hard as she could. At that moment, Ariciel roared again, and green magic crackled on her fur. With infinite rage, she tore into the Orcs, killing one outright, dropping another, heavily wounded and bleeding. Her claws tore away at the other two until they too fell to Mareva’s fire and Ariciel’s claws. The bear-form shimmered, disappeared and Ariciel fell to her knees, with several bleeding wounds on her. She raised her hands, palms upwards, and started casting healing spells on herself. Mareva joined in with her own healing magic, until Ariciel stood up, face pale, but defiant, nodding her thanks.

They looked. Hirudo was still casting healing spell after healing spell on Ripface and Skullcrusher, who were lost in an adrenalin-fueled rage, hacking away blindly at their group of orcs, none of which had any real wounds yet. Worse, some of them had seen Hirudo and his healing magic, and were circling round towards him, meaning to kill the healer first, and then the rest of their attackers, at leisure.

With a growl, Ariciel turned back to her bear form, and charged in, and through the Orcs. Her roar made all the Orcs look round at her as she ran forward, through, then turned round. Her eyes glowed red, promising death for all.

Now that all the Orcs were turned towards Ariciel, Skullcrusher and Ripface, not to mention Mareva, found it easier to hit hard. Hirudo could concentrate his healing on Ariciel, and the tide had turned. One of the Orcs turned and ran, meaning to get reinforcements, but Mareva’s lightning bolts caught up with him, and he fell. The other three Orcs were soon overcome. Ariciel dropped her bear form and stood still, fists clenched by her sides, blinking as a small trickle of blood ran into her eye. She wiped her face with her sleeve, then slowly walked towards Skullcrusher.

“Well fought, my lady. And may I say you are beautiful when you’re…”

Moving quicker than sight, Ariciel hit Skullcrusher with a fierce right hook to the face. Skullcrusher staggered backwards, and Ariciel swept his legs from under him with her staff, so that he landed on his back with a dull thud. She leapt on top of him and slapped him across the face with the back of her hand. Then, she bowed down over him.

“You Light-bereft, blithering idiot! What do you think you were doing? I am the tank here. I am the first attacker, and you, you miserable excuse for a warrior, will hit what I am hitting, after me!” She put a hand on his throat, and squeezed. “I very, very much doubt that we will be in a fight together again, but if we are, then you will behave!”

A hand was on Ariciel’s shoulder, and her head snapped round to see Mareva.

“You are choking him. If you kill him, how will he learn?”

“Pah!” Ariciel stood up, and turned round to Hirudo. “And you, mister Healer. Did you not see fit to throw a couple of regrowths my way?”

Hirudo sniffed. “I cannot heal two groups at the same time when they run in different directions. You seemed to be doing fine, so I concentrated on those who needed it most.”

“Our foes lie dead, while we draw breath,” said Mareva. “Ever be it so. Now let’s move.”

“Not without looting the bodies,” said Ripface. “That’s the fun part.”

A miserable ghoul ran in the direction of Voltarus, the necropolis of Drakuru. The disguise did not give Stetson much scope for facial expressions, but he was furious. Ungrateful, stupid, annoying… bastard! Stetson jumped over a fallen tree, swiping at the branches as he went. He looked forward, into the distance. The pyramid hovered a few hundred feet above the ground. How in the name of the Light was he going to get up there? The necklace made a crackling sound that did not fill Stetson with much confidence in its abilities. A group of ghouls came running past in the other direction. None of them even gave him a look, so that, at least, seemed to be working. Greetings, brothers! Stetson grunted. Not funny. He came to a small clearing in the forest, where he could see some sort of magical device. As he watched, ghouls ran into it, and disappeared in a flash of light, only to come out again a bit later. Ah.

Stetson took a deep, rattling breath, and started to walk, when something made him stop. A little way ahead stood a creature made of shadow, arms crossed. It looked over the ghouls who were doing the bidding of Drakuru in the clearing. Stetson frowned. That, he decided, must be one of those blightguards that Mr. Stefan Vadu had warned him about. With due care and attention, Stetson stalked a long way round, until he finally made his way to the teleportation device. Stetson did not like portals. They worked by tearing you, atom by atom, through the Twisting Nether and rebuilding you again on the other side. Which, no matter how much they reassured him about the failure rate being negligibly small, always gave him a bit of a pause. Nothing for it, though. Without thinking, Stetson ran into the machine, blinked and found himself in a small room, with a glowing green floor, and exits to the Four Winds. Bridges led to the rest of the necropolis. There was no railing between him and a sheer drop. Presumably, not blundering off the walkways was one of the Tests that awaited new Scourgelings. The necklace around his neck suddenly started fizzing, and Stetson ran, to a hiding place behind some crates. The disguise failed, and suddenly there was a very large Draenei man in a place filled with Scourge ghouls and zombies. Forcing himself to remain calm, he spoke the few syllables that activated the disguise, and a moment later, he was a ghoul again. Muttering dire curses at the address of Stefan Vadu, Stetson looked round.

“Hey mon!”

Stetson almost leaped out of his mangy, louse-bitten skin, and turned round. Behind him was a large Troll in a cage. Stetson looked up into his eyes.

“You be no Scourge mon. What say you open dis cage no?”


“Be you having shit for brains, mon? Open dem locks. Bite dem through if you have to.”

Stetson looked at the cage. It was about large enough for a Troll to stand in or sit down. It was locked with a simple bolt, and the bars were close enough together that the occupants couldn’t operate the locks themselves. He looked up again.

“Why are you in here, ‘mon’?”

The Troll rolled his eyes, grunted. “Overlord Drakuru, he love me, mon. Be wanting to have some peacebloom tea with me. Chat ’bout dem old days, when he still be fuckfuck stupid ice Troll dat got caught by dem Humans. He be wanting to thank us for not wasting dem lives of many Troll trying to bust him stupid arse out of there.”

“If I do let you out, what will you do?”

“Be doing de nice Capoeira dance, mon. What you think? Get my stupid green butt out of here, and warn dem folks back home. If you have not got dis through you thick skull mon, we be no Horde here, we be no Al-li-ance. We be the living. And I want to stay living. Now open dem locks, or be pissing off.”

Stetson nodded, then pulled at the lock. The door opened, and the Troll stepped out, stretching.

“I have a disguise. How are you going to get out of here?”

The Troll chieftain grinned. “I be freeing my brothers, mon. We be two handsfull. You never try to stop two handsfull of angry Troll, mon. I know you never did because you not a smear on dem floor.”

“Right,” said Stetson. “Blessings upon your family.”

Stetson turned round, but there was a hand on his shoulder.

“T’ank you mon. You may be thick as a brick, but you know who to trust. I not be forgetting your face.”

Stetson the Scourge Ghoul sat on top of one of the crates and watched two handsfull of angry Trolls break out of the necropolis. Trolls having only two fingers and a thumb on each hand, they were only six, but that didn’t seem to bother them much. They made straight for one of the bridges, into the teleportation device, and were gone. He had to admit. When Trolls got moving, they really moved. There was a flash of light above the teleporter, and another Troll appeared. He looked round, and saw Stetson.

“You. What be all dis noise, mon?”

Stetson cowered down, pointed a trembling hand at the open empty cages.

“Oh mon. How did they get out?”

Stetson shrugged, raised his hands. The large Troll took two steps forward, and grabbed Stetson by the throat.

“Be you blind as well as dumb, mon? A bunch of Trolls making a big noise and you just go on toting dem bales?”

Stetson raised his arms to his face, and shivered. The fact that the necklace was once again fizzing ominously was making this easier. The big Troll dropped him.

Loas bugger me. I must find a way of making new Scourgelings without eating dem brains. You got no jobs to do mon?”

Stetson ducked his head down, and made straight for the teleporter.

“I be needing to step up dem security in dis place,” said Overlord Drakuru.


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