Post by Patty
((Part 6 can be found
here. Another new character in this, and hopefully you enjoy it. As usual, feedback and/or critisism is welcome.))
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Tajil reclined on his tiger-hide sofa, and poured himself a glass of Orcish ale.
“Dat be da good stuff, ‘mon.” He thought, placing his feet on the low table in front of him. There was a loud knock at the door, which echoed slightly in the Troll’s rickety hut. He stretched, before getting up and strolling to the front door.
A large, bulky Tauren was stood in front of him. He had a brown coat, and a large nose ring. Tajil slightly winced, even the Darkspear did not use such large piercings. He looked at him again, and saw the Tauren was wearing a sandy robe, and had a large wooden staff in his hands. At his neck was a strange amber trinket, glowing lightly and resting on his chest. “Who you be?” Asked Tajil, who did not recognise the Cow-man.
“Atepo, of the Mistrunner tribe.” Said the Tauren, towering over the slouched Troll. “Are you Tajil of the Darkspear?” He asked, holding a letter in his hand. Tajil’s eyes widened, before laughing heartily. “Someone read da letters den, eh?” He said, moving out of the doorway and gesturing for the Tauren to enter.
“Take a seat ‘mon, we should have a chat.” Said the Troll. Atepo nodded, and took a seat on Tajil’s sofa, although he did not look very comfortable, as the furniture was not built for people of his frame. “So, when do we go to help the forest?” Asked the Tauren eagerly. “Soon, ‘mon. But I need ta hear from my oda contacts first.” He replied.
“Oh, what should we do in the meanwhile?” Asked Atepo, his mane glistening in the sunlight.
“Well, we could always look for more recruits, what do ya say to dat?” Asked the Troll. Atepo sighed, but agreed it would probably be for the best to try finding more people who had similar interests at heart. They both walked out of Tajil’s small hut, the door slamming behind them.
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Tiragon and Sproxie were taken to an enclave in the forest, which was heavily guarded by the Kaldorei sentinels, with stern looks on their faces.
“This base is huge!” Whispered Sproxie, looking up and around herself in awe.
“And not a single tree cut down.” Said Captain Nightbow, who was walking in front of the pair.
”How the heck?” Thought the Gnome. They reached a command room, filled with parchment maps and several compasses.
“So, the Warsong have recently taken here.” Said Felinda, pointing to the south east. “We hope to intercept them here.” She continued, stabbing the map with a small, delicately crafted dagger. Tiragon jumped back, not expecting her to slam at the table with such force. Sproxie said “Well, that sounds lovely, but won’t that mean that loads of people die?” Asked the Gnome.
“The Orcs do not deserve to live, they should not be here! I will never forgive them for killing Cenarius, and many of my people in vain. As for our own, it is a necessary sacrifice.” She said coldly. Tiragon frowned, shaking his head.
“We are at war with the Lich King! Conflicts and skirmishes at a time like this are the last thing we need!” He exclaimed, almost shouting.
“A skirmish? No, this is the first part of a campaign to rout the Orcs from our forests and beyond.” Said the Captain, annoyed at the brash priest. “And who exactly is ‘we’?” She asked, her hand at her hips in anger.
“The Argent Crusade, the Ebon Blade, the Ashen Verdict. Do these mean nothing to you?” Asked the human, almost overtaken by rage.
“I have heard of the Argent, but the others are alien to me. Tirion is but a baby, as is his organisation along with the rest of your race.” She said, sighing loudly.
“Whoa, whoa! Calm it!” Jumped Sproxie.
“I am sorry.” Said Tiragon. “Captain, I meant no offence.” He said, bowing.
“It is time to leave.” He said to Sproxie, who nodded and followed him, speeding up as Tiragon increased his pace. “Farewell.” Said the Captain as she stared at the maps, trying to think up a plausible strategy.
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Naia crouched, walking very lightly as she crossed the crystal orb-lit streets between her home and the Library. She entered it, and locked the door. Her eyes were blank, not even glowing anymore.
“This way, little Elf.” The voice said in her head. Naia heard footsteps and chatter. Two assistants were holding a lamp, and walked past her as she hid behind a bookcase. She pulled out her dagger, and stabbed one through the heart. The other Elf, startled, tried to scream but Naia had already placed her hand over her mouth before slitting her throat.
“Good! The Kaldorei will pay for their treachery.” The voice boomed, cackling madly. Naia reached the restricted section, and starting ripping and tearing at books, looking for an Orcish tome.
“Ahah!” She thought, pulling a purple book with some strange symbols on the front cover.
“Well done.” The voice stated.
“What now master?” Asked the Elf, a shell of her former self.
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The reinforced door was unhinged and fell to the door with a large thud. In a cloud of smoke, Shala saw two figures appear.
“Not more Orcs…” She thought, seeing the green-skinned creatures. Her eyes widened and she backed herself further into a corner. Luckily, the commotion surrounding the Orcs’ appearance had distracted Kakrun.
“Stay this madness!” Exclaimed Drakthog, blasting the warrior in the chest with a powerful gust of wind. “Son, get the prisoner out.” He said, in Orcish parrying a blow by the enraged Orc’s axe with his enchanted staff. Talruk nodded, picking up Shala who was wincing. “Are you hurt?” He asked her in common. Shala nodded, spitting out a mouthful of blood.
“I mean you no harm.” He said, running and calling on the wilds to heal her wounds. Shala was still bruised and bleeding heavily, but her ribs were repaired. She breathed softly as she smelled the outside air, and Talruk whistled for his wolf. Firebite returned, a rabbit in his mouth, and Talruk placed the Night Elf delicately on his mounts’ back.
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Drak’thog was constantly being assaulted by Kakrun, his staff was almost shattered and he was out of breath. The ‘Overlord’ gritted his teeth, and his eyes began glowing red and raised his axe at a slouched Drak’thog. As he charged the Shaman in a blind bloodfury, he felt himself become rooted. Rocks were pooling at his feet, and he was quickly engulfed by the Earth spirit’s fury. Drak’thog bowed, and walked out of the outpost with a limp.
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Tal’ruk caught his father before he fell to the ground, and Drak’thog smiled. “Son, I need help with one last thing.” He said, clenching his son’s shoulder and getting to his feet, slightly stumbling.
“What?” Asked Tal’ruk. “We must purify the land. Beg water for aid, I cannot do it alone.” He said, channelling a spell and uttering an incantation in Orcish. Tal’ruk began channelling, assisting his father. Water burst from the ground in front of them, gathering into a large wave at the Shamans‘ feet, before unleashing its full force on the small base.