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Fremskritt's World of Warcraft fanfic thread
Topic Started: Apr 14 2008, 05:05 PM (1,098 Views)
Fremskritt
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The poster formerly known as TP
For anyone interested, here is a nice map of Outland. It's interactive, so feel free to mouseover the different areas for details.

Five

It didn't really get dark in Outland, as it was basically just a big rock floating through the Twisting Nether, so there was always starshine and shine from the other worlds. Varulva knew that one of them was Azeroth, her place of birth, but she didn't know which one it was. For all she knew it could be so far away it wasn't even visible from Outland. The sky was filled with stars and some weird streaks, maybe ley lines, she didn't know and didn't care, she didn't care much for the arcane arts. Let the blood elves deal with that she thought, the last time the orcs had tried to wrestle magics to do their bidding it had almost destroyed their homeworld. She saw evidence of it all around her as she rode westwards, past Hellfire Citadel, onwards to new sights.

She wasn't being really fair with her views on magics, she knew that much. Humans and elves had used magic for millenia before the orcs had gotten tempted with immeasurable power. That was the difference she knew. Gul'dan and his Shadow Council had abused the power they'd been given, becoming the lapdogs of the Burning Legion, the demon army that sought nothing but the destruction of all life in the universe. She could hardly believe it was only two generations since the orcish Horde had become corrupted by shadow magic. Luckily her parents were of the generation who had rebelled against this, and had started afresh, honoring the spirits like their ancestors had done for countless ages back here on Draenor, now known as Outland. She was proud to follow the ancient traditions once again, seeking redemption for the sins that had been committed mere decades ago. It had filled her with joy to dance around the fire during the midsummer fire festival, feeling the eyes of the males on her, knowing they liked what they saw. It was the ancient mating ritual, its origins lost to the ages, but which had been reinstated by Warchief Thrall in honour of the spirits of fire. Varulva hadn't participated to find a mate though, she just wanted to feel the spirits embrace her, showing her their approval. It was such an intoxicating feeling, she still remembered it fondly.

Now on the other hand she was far away from the dusty hot valleys of Orgrimmar. The ring had been closed, the orcs had been driven from this world by their own fel magics, and were now returning to retake their homeland from the Burning Legion. It wouldn't be easy though, Outland was full of hostile creatures, like the arakkoa, birdmen worshiping some evil god she didn't know. There was also the Draenei, after who Draenor was named. The story of the orcs and draenei was a sad one, driven by their demon overlords the Shadow Council had ordered every single draenei slaughter prior to the exodus to Azeroth. She cursed the Legion for driving such a big wedge between the two races. She would slaughter every single demon she saw, driving them away from her homeworld. And if she couldn't do it alone she knew there would be thousands of fellow Horde members on the same quest. The mighty Tauren, the mystical Trolls, the sly Forsaken and the powerful Blood Elves, who had recently joined the ranks of the Horde. And the orcs of course, her kin. The irony was that both the Blood Elves and the Forsaken had been sworn enemies of the orcs, after all the Horde had tried to take their lands. Ultimately they had failed, but not without a bloodshed never seen before in the history of Azeroth. There had been a lot of intrigue involved there, enough to fill several volumes. In the end she was glad for their new allies. On the other hand the draenei had joined the Alliance, making peace even harder to achieve. Once the Burning Legion was destroyed there would surely be another war like the Second War, only bigger, if the two factions couldn't put their old hatreds aside. Hopefully the joint effort against the Legion would show the two sides that friendly coexistence was possible. But for now she had to get away from Multane. Hopefully he'd take the hint and not make any moves towards her if their paths crossed again.

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

Westwards she went, her never-tiring white riding wolf taking her towards new adventures. She loved seeing new places, and Outland was like a blank map to her. It was way past time she got away from Hellfire Peninsula too, the spirit-forsaken land her ancestors had corrupted with their fel magics. Sooner or later she had to go back though, but for now she had earned herself some sightseeing. Hopefully the rest of her shattered homeworld wasn't as irrevocably dead.

The road narrowed into a pass heavily populated with a sort of beast she had never come across before. The ugly beats had fours spindly legs and had spikes in all directions. Not only that, they didn't seem to mind feasting on her flesh, so she had to ride hard to avoid them. Luckily Winterstorm was faster than them, and they gave up the chase after a while. No matter how hostie they were she only pitied them, formed by the harsh conditions they were. She felt a stab of guilt knowing it was her kin who had made their hunting grounds the place it was. At least there was some life here, not just the giant demon boars she had left behind. Yes, the ground was slowly becoming alive around her, she could feel it. Encouraged by this she rode Winterstorm even harder. It wasn't hard, he could feel it too.

Suddenly the pass opened up into a huge marshland. She stopped and jumped off her mount, cheering at the land. There was water here! And not that green stuff that was back in Hellfire Peninsula either. This water might actually be drinkable, but she didn't trust it, this was swamp water after all. She took a look around her with arms outstretched to feel the spirits flow through her, welcoming her. The fact she was welcome here lifted her spirits even more. Her eyesight even seemed to improve as she slowly attuned herself to the local spirits of the wild. With her regained eyesight she saw a building in the distance. A night elf tower! What were night elves doing here? Filled with energy, fuelled by the wild itself she mounted Winterstorm again and rode towards the building to investigate.

Carefully she approached the night elf village. It was night elf for sure, she could see the otherworldly glow from a moonwell as she came closer. The other buildings were certainly of night elf architecture, but something was wrong. There was a tauren standing at the entrance. Had the Cenarion Circle sent some of their people here? It had to be, the tauren was clearly dressed in druid vestments. Yes, it had to be the Circle, she would be welcome there, so she made Winterstorm speed up.

"Welcome to the Cenarion Refuge," the tauren said once Varulva was within hearing range. "What brings you here, orc?"
"Throm'ka, druid," Varulva replied. "What is the Cenarion Circle doing in these marshlands?"
"Don't trouble your mind with that," the druid answered. "You are tired and need sleep, we will fill you in once you're rested, if you're interested."
"I accept your hospitality," Varulva said.
"Then let me show you to the inn."

Even in these wild lands the night elves had managed to make some luxurious beds. Almost feeling bad for sleeping in one Varulva undressed and laid down in one. Orcs weren't made for this kind of comfort. But she fell asleep quickly, like she always did in beds of night elf craft. Well, she had to allow herself some comfort some times, at least when offered.

She woke up better rested than she had ever been after going through the Portal. Now it was time to earn her keep, so she offered her services to the Cenarion druids. As it turned up there wasn't a shortage of work to do. The druids wanted to preserve the balance of nature in this swamp, the Zangarmarsh as it was called. Knowing their cause Varulva was very excited. Preserving the balance of nature? By the spirits, she was a huntress, she felt a deep kinship with the wilderness, so she took on whatever quests she could. The biggest problem was apparently that somehow the water levels in the swamp had been sinking lately, and she was sent to investigate.

Zangarmarsh was filled with big nasty bugs and some kind of flying rays, nether rays, as the druids called them. The water was full of electric eals and some large three-headed beasts. On land she some times noticed some tall insects on three long legs walking majestically through the marshes, the fen striders as they were called. But it was the bugs that annoyed her the most. They were actually as big as she was, and were hell to bring down. Luckily they always appeared by themselves and not in big swarms like back in the Swamp of Sorrows in Azeroth. All the while fighting off the local wildlife she was looking for the reason the water levels were sinking.

The second day she came across a bunch of naga. She had faced naga before back on Azeroth, so she didn't expect to be treated well. She was right, once she appeared she was attacked. Clearly these considered orcs kill on sight as well. But what were they doing here? Surely they couldn't be behind the sinking water levels, naga lived in the water. She decided to check it out anyway, and was surprised. The naga actually were behind the sinking water levels. They were actively pumping water out of the lakes! Filled with anger she almost rushed out of the bushes, but caught herself. It was the felblood, the legacy of her grandparents that had almost gotten the better of her. So she snuck away and once she figured she was far enough away she mounted up and raced back to the Refuge to report on this.

Not surprisingly she was sent out again to stop the pumps. It proved to be easier than she had expected, if she approached from the water she could plant the enchanted seeds she had been given right next to the pumping stations without causing much of a ruckus. Once the seeds were planted they'd grow quickly and crush the station with their strong roots and vines. It was a humbling sight. She actually saluted the new growth in respect. This was real power, and she was part of it.

The last night at the Refuge she slept even more soundly than usual in the comfy night elf bed. She had done her duty in Zangarmarsh, tomorrow she would follow the road south to Shattrath City in Terokkar Forest and see the fabled City of Light.
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Fremskritt
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I'll start putting hotlinks to stuff in the text, at least the first time something is mentioned, other sites got way more information than I bother writing down.

Six

After taking farewell with the Cenarion druids Varulva rode southwards, following the road that would take her to Shattrath, the City of Light. She had never expected such a city to exist in this shattered world, but then she had spent the last few days in a freaking swamp, something she had never thought possible. She had expected all of Outland to be like Hellfire Peninsula, dry and barren, populated with whatever nasty creatures that somehow managed to survive the harsh conditions. Who knew, maybe she would get to enjoy her ancestral home after all beyond the obvious "this is the land of my forebears".

Zangarmarsh was still teeming with life even though the naga were still pumping out the water of the swamp. Where did they put it? Did it just disappear into thin air? And why? She wanted to find out sooner or later, but now all she wanted to see the rest of this world. Other adventurers would come after her to do their part in stopping the drainage, so she had no qualms about leaving the Cenarion Refuge. Deep inside she missed the tranquility and peace of the outposts of the Cenarion Circle, but honour wouldn't allow her to stay at such places for long, lest she would grow soft, and there was no bigger dishonour than that. She might not be the strongest warrior of the Horde, but her skill with ranged weapons and deep understanding of the wilds made up for that. The Horde needed scouts, and even though her bond to the spirits of the wild was stronger than the one to her peers she reported anything unusual that she came across in her travels.

But only when she was in town of course. She would only go out of her way to report her findings if it was a dire threat, not doing so would be a huge disrespect to the people who had fought and died so that the orcs could find a new place to live in their new world.

The swamp made way for forest. This didn't surprise her at all, not after the shift from Hellfire Peninsula to Zangarmarsh. This must be Terokkar Forest, which the Cenarion druids had told her about. They had a base here as well, which they had urged her to visit. They figured something was wrong there, as they hadn't heard from it for a long time. So she decided to let Shattrath wait and rode eastwards towards the Cenarion Thicket, where their base was located.

Outside the Thicket a lone Tauren stood with his kodo. He introduced himself as Earthbinder Tavgren and had returned from a scouting mission to find the Thicket totally dead, all druids slain. Wanting to know what had happened Varulva volunteered to investigate what had happened. Tavgren asked her to bring him some samples from the Teromoths inhabiting the forest.

It appeared that taking samples was secondary to the fact that the teromoths close to the Thicket were visibly altered somehow. They were much more aggressive too. While the ones not affected by whatever happened were peaceful creatures just minding their own business these ones would attack on sight. She collected the samples from them anyway, in case it could give a clue as to what had happened. She also collected samples from the unaffected teromoths to see how they differed. Also she checked the buildings in the Thicket itself for clues. There was an obvious one in the main building. A Broken corpse was lying on the floor with a strange device next to it. She had no idea what it might be though, so she went back to Tavgren, fending off the vicious teromoths on the way.

Tavgren took the samples and asked Varulva to check for a local travelling merchant named Empoor, another Broken. So she rode off in the direction of Shattrath to find him, and it didn't take long until she saw him walking along the road with his bodyguard. Riding up to him, she kindly asked if he knew anything about that strange item. This didn't go well with the merchant, so he ordered the bodyguard to chase her off. Seeing that a fight was inevitable she called her sabercat Lakris to her side to help her out. Together they beat up the bodyguard within an inch of his life before Empoor caving in. Knowing he would be next if they killed his bodyguard he told her everything. He had gotten some parts for somehow he swore he didn't know what was from an ethereal trader in the Lower City of Shattrath. Apparently she got to see the place after all.

The entrance to Shattrath was filled with beggars asking her for a few spare copper pieces. Having racked up hundreds of gold pieces during her adventures she was tempted to give them some, but she caught herself. If these lazy bums couldn't make a living on their own they didn't deserve her attention, so she just rode past them, not even looking at them from the back of her wolf. Well past the short underground passage she passed the Peacekeepers watching the city entrance. Then she doubled back. She had never been in Shattrath before, so she might as well ask, after all the city guard must know where to find who she was looking for. She got her directions and rode off.

Shattrath was a depressing city at first glance. But then the tunnel she had taken to get inside led to the Lower City, which was filled with the kind of people one would expect to find in a place with such a name. Maybe the Terrace of Light would look better, but she had no time to explore now. She had to find this trader. Luckily he was easy to spot, as one of the very few ethereals in this city, so it didn't take long to find him. He sent her out to Tuurem to find some more devices like the one she had found in Cenarion Thicket. Beginning to get a bit annoyed at all this going back and forth she rode off.

The devices were easy to spot on the ground. Fending off the lost ones inhabiting this town she picked them right off the ground. But as it turned out Tuurem wasn't just filled with lost ones, she came across a Firewing messenger who wasn't too happy with what she was doing. "Finally some challenge," Varulva thought, and killed the messenger. But what did blood elves have to do with this? She had to report this to Tavgren immediately.

Tavgren was of the same opinion as Varulva. What in the name of the Earthmother did the Firewing blood elves have to do with this? He promptly asked her to check out their base, Firewing Point, to spy. So she mounted up on Winterstorm, her trusty frostwolf and rode off. What had the Cenarion druids done that could possibly involve Kael'thas' followers? Something wasn't right here. The "new lord" of the fel orcs, Kael'thas blood elves massacring druids from the Cenarion Expedition, the naga pumping out water from Zangarmarsh, it all made no sense. Wasn't this world broken enough already? Fuelled by the spirits, she let her rage boil all the way to Firewing Point.

Peeking around at the Point, careful not to be seen, she found some blueprints for a mana bomb. Being an engineer herself, she could read them easily, and quickly saw the similarity to the device she had seen at the Thicket. So the Firewing blood elves were behind this after all. Again she felt the blood fury rage inside her. She had to come to the bottom of this. She kept sneaking around, looking at every corner, even the highest tower. There she overheard a conversation between who was apparently the leader of the Firewing blood elves and a projection of someone who introduced himself as Pathaleon the Calculator.

"My master, we are honored by your presence. How may I serve thee?"
"Rise, young Voldoun. Do not worry yourself with pleasantries. I come at the behest of our master, Prince Kael'thas. He bids me to check on the progress of the mana bomb."
"All goes exceedingly well, my lord. Testing of the smaller prototype at the Cenarion Thicket was a complete success. The second bomb is being ritually fueled in the courtyard below even as we speak. And, I've sent a courier to Tuurem to bring the rest of the parts to us here.
"You are satisfied?"
"For the time being, yes. However, allow my presence to be a motivator. Prince Kael'thas was displeased with the failure of the crystal experiment on Fallen Sky Ridge. This is one of the reasons for why we chose the Cenarion druids as the testing grounds for the bomb.
"I need not tell you what will happen should the mana bomb down in the courtyard fail to be used on its target soon? Since moving into the forest, they've becoming increasingly annoying to our operations: here, at Tuurem and to the south at the Bonechewer Ruins.
"I think that we should teach a lesson to both the Horde and the Alliance. Once that they will not soon forget!"
"I can assure you that we will not fail, my master. I am personally overseeing every aspect of the construction, and I hold the final codes, myself. Within a day's time, I will have the bomb detonated on those nearby pests."
" See to it that you do, Sharth, or I will personally see to your slow torture and death."

With that the projection blinked out. Varulva had heard enough. Clearly Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider wasn't the hero she had heard the blood elves back in Silvermoon made him out to be. She snuck down the tower and rode back to Tavgren to report what she had found out before she went to Shattrath. Now she wanted to see the City of Light in its full glory.
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Seven

This time Varulva wouldn't take the tunnels to the Lower City, instead she would take a bridge over that gulf and head directly to the Terrace of Light. Shattrath City had so many darn entrances it was a wonder it still stood. But then she knew it had been sacked by her forebears only 2 generations ago. Shaking her head at the bloody past of her race she rode over the bridge. She did not come as a conqueror though. She came in peace.

A huge column of light stood out from the central building on the Terrace, going directly upwards towards the sky. The rest of the place was just as depressive as the Lower City though. There was no sign of poverty here, but the colours were all lifeless and boring. This was certainly not the City of Light she had envisioned. She didn't want to give up though, so she went to the building where the light was emitted from.

The building turned out to be a great hall, in whose center floated a being she had never seen before. It looked like it was made out of pure light, and as she moved closer she could hear some kind of soft tingling music surround her, calming her. It was a feeling of safety she had never felt before. Beside the light being she saw an old human standing. As she moved closer he hailed her, and introduced himself as Khadgar. She was baffled, was it the Khadgar? Humbled, she asked him, and he confirmed it. Upon hearing this she felt a humility she hadn't felt since she had knelt before the Warchief for the first time almost a year before. Just like Warchief Thrall, Khadgar was a living legend, albeit on different sides of the conflicts that had plagued the two races.

Khadgar told Varulva about these beings of light. Naaru was what they were called, and actually were beings made of pure light. Almost at least. As she looked around she could see a few more scattered around the hall. A'dal, G'eras and V'eru were their names, with A'dal being the one she and Khadgar were standing beside. Khadgar told her everything he knew about these beings, and when he was done he offered her a walkaround in Shattrath so she would get to know the city and its history better. He wouldn't accompany her personally though, he sent one of his arcane servants to show her around.

Khadgar's servant led Varulva around in the City of Light, and wherever they went she saw the same depressing dull colours. It didn't feel like it lived up to its name. Maybe it once had been, well, an actual city of light, and now that she thought of it that way the name made much more sense. The colours actually did make it look like the Light had somehow disappeared from here, and just the grey stone walls were left. Maybe it was the orcs who had driven it out when they sacked the city so many years ago. She felt a stab of guilt, maybe her own grandparents were part of the orc army that had defiled this place? But she caught herself quickly, she could not be held accountable for what her ancestors had done.

The servant told her about the two upper echelons of Shattrath society, the Aldor and the Scryers. They both had their own rises over the Terrace of Light, and didn't like each other very much. If she was to get into any of those tiers she had to choose allegiance to either of them, something the other faction wouldn't like. Again she felt the hopelessness of it all, with all these ancient feuds. Not that the Scryer/Aldor feud could be called ancient, it didn't even date back as far as the Third War, which had taken place not long before she was born. Ultimately she would have to choose though, as the only inns in Shattrath were on those high rises.

Honouring the new alliance with the Blood Elves she chose the Scryers. There was no ceremony. She just went to the elevator and rode it up to their rise. Once she was up she looked for the inn, so she could bind her Hearthstone there. There were portals to all Horde capitals in the hall of A'dal, so she was never more than a few minutes away from any of them. They were one-way though, so she couldn't take them to get back to Shattrath. So by binding her hearthstone to an inn in Shattrath she wouldn't have to take the long journey through Stranglethorn Vale, Duskwood, Swamp of Sorrows and all the way through the Blasted Lands. She rented a room for the night and slept in the comfy Blood Elf bed. She would have to watch herself so she didn't grow soft from all these elven beds.

The next morning she stood up, had a quick breakfast (elven food, virtually clean of the fat she needed to sustain her muscles) and mounted up on Winterstorm to ride to Stonebreaker Hold, an orc village in Terokkar Forest, close to the Bone Wastes. It would be great to meet her own kin in their own village, help carrying her load, swap stories around the campfire about her battles, and maybe even flirt with the males if time permitted. Pulling her weight was her main reason to go there though. The Buring Legion was still out there, so all hands were needed.

Stonebreaker Hold was the opposite of Thrallmar. The orc base in Hellfire Peninsula had been dry and hot, this little village was temperate, just like the rest of the forest. Also this village was built before the wars that had driven the wedge between the Horde and Alliance, so the buildings were built in the original orc style, out of clay and mortar, and weren't just makeshift buildings made out of a wood skeleton draped with beast hides. These buildings looked much more durable. But alas, something was missing she found out. Malukaz, the local shaman, told her about a wolf spirit that had been the guardian of this village before the First War, but which had abandoned them when the Horde started practicing shadow magic. He wanted to bring it back, to show it that the orcs had returned to the old ways, and he needed her help. He needed her to collect the pelts of the wolves roaming the woods of Terokkar to create the suit he needed to call on the old wolf spirit. A perfect job for a young huntress he claimed.

Not everybody was as selfless as Malukaz though. Rakoria, a female of about Varulva's age, had seen Terokkar Forest as a good opportunity to get rich, and asked her to pick up some olemba cones for their seeds. According to Rakoria these seeds could be used for various mixtures which she could sell at a steep price. Varulva wasn't entirely sure if she liked nature being used for personal gain like this, but she agreed to pick up some while she was hunting wolves. "You won't regret it," Rakoria said. "I'll even let you have a little piece of the profit!" Varulva was used to that kinda rhetoric though, she had been working for the Steamwheedle Cartel enough times in the past. But as long as the spirits didn't cry out when she picked up some cones she figured it would be allright.

The spirits didn't complain when she picked up the cones. She couldn't communicate directly with the spirits of course, only shaman could do that, but they made sure she knew they didn't approve of her actions in other ways, like physical discomfort, or if she was doing what they wanted her to do, with sweet pleasure. She loved having this bond to the wilds, sometimes she understood its spirits better than any shaman could, and at a much deeper level, and she treasured this connection. The spirits of the wild granted her the eyesight of a hawk, perfect knowledge of her surroundings and a constant feeling of being at home. Therefore she didn't like the city life, she'd much rather stay out in the wilds and feel the immersion in the natural world. She had no problem finding lone wolves to hunt, her cause was just, so the spirits led the wolves to her, still giving her a challenge to bring them down, so she could prove she was worthy. Similarly, she always knew when an olemba cone was near, as if the spirits wanted her to pick them up. This made all her doubts about Rakoria's intentions vanish, because if the spirits themselves led her to the cones they had to agree with her cause.

With her backpack full of wolf pelts and olemba seeds Varulva returned to Stonebreaker in the evening. She gave the seeds to Rakoria, who started grinding them up at once. Curious, Varulva watched, and agreed to test the oil produced from grinding the seeds. Rakoria told her to test it on Grek, an illiterate orc more than willing to help out, but who was hampered by his lack of reading skill. Grek was more than willing to try it out. Whether it was to help the village or the young female asking him she didn't know, but he didn't like the result. "This oil be useless to Grek!"

Rakoria almost fell over laughing when Varulva told her. "It's Mana Oil! No wonder Grek didn't like it! Here, take some for yourself as payment. Terokkar is where I will make my fortune."

Malukaz almost forgot his manners when Varulva came loaded with wolf pelts.
"Give me those pelts," he said, and donned them at once she handed them over.
"You hunters certainly have a way with the wild beasts," he continued.
"Oh, it wasn't much," Varulva replied.
"You deserve all the credit you can get for this," he said. "Providing it works of course."
"The spirits led the wolves to me," she told him. "I'm sure the wolf spirit is on our side."
"They did? Well, in that case we should make haste with the ritual," Malukaz said and put down some candles in a circle.
"Help me light these candles please," he told her.
"Certainly," she replied. "It's an honour to bring back the balance."

When all the candles were lit Malukaz started chanting. Soon the air began to shimmer, and a translucent wolf shape appeared. Orcs had always had a special bond to the wolves, so it was no wonder that the protector of this village was a wolf spirit. Malukaz asked the spirit for forgiveness, and swore to honour it like the orcs of Stonebreaker Hold had done for countless generations before the First War. The wolf spirit sniffed Varulva, then turned to Malukaz and nodded. Then it disappeared.

"It is done," Malukaz said. "We have regained the favour of the wolf spirit. Our village owes you a lifetime of thanks, huntress, it must have known what you were doing and led the wolves to you, to test your strength, and apparently you passed its test."
"Again, it was nothing," Varulva replied. "I did what I had to do, it was my duty."
"It certainly was. And you performed it well."

It was late, and Malukaz offered her shelter for the night. Celebrating the renewed pact with the wolf spirit they made intense love before falling asleep. This time it was on a rug on the cold hard floor, the way she preferred it, and she chided herself for feeling it to be extra hard after the many nights in soft elvish beds. At least the food here was food for an orc, and not for anorectic blood elves.
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[red]Moderator action:[/red] Changed topic title according to my new username.

It's been a while since last time I wrote something here. Hopefully you enjoy it. :)

Eight

Terokkar Forest was a quite depressive place in Varulva's eyes. Even though the spirits were strong she couldn't help but feel a certain sadness to the place, just like in Shattrath. Maybe things would change now that the local orc tribe had the favour of the wolf spirit, but she wouldn't know yet. She wouldn't stay here much longer. She was going west, to Nagrand, Land of the Winds, and home to the Frostwolf clan, the clan of the Warchief himself. She summoned Winterstorm, eager to go, after all Nagrand was full of historical places, and she wanted to honour the Warchief and his ancestors by going there and seeing them with her own eyes. She had already been to Hellfire Peninsula and seen the Path of Glory, where the Horde had marched towards the Dark Portal and into Azeroth. Thinking about this brought a tear to her eye. Oh that she was born too late to be part of such glorious times... She quickly wiped it away though, tears were a sign of weakness.

To get to Nagrand she had to ride west across the Bone Wastes, the result of a huge explosion in Auchindoun. This was said to be the work of the Shadow Council, the sect of Gul'dan, the warlock who had led the orcs to corruption. She sent an angry thought to his spirit, if such an evil orc could still had one. It was his fault she and her kin was cursed with the felblood, the blood of Mannoroth, a pit lord of the Burning Legion. And here his Shadow Council was still at large, practicing the dark arts, having forsaken the ancestral path of the spirits, which the orcs had followed for countless generations. It made her angry. So angry that she in fact snuck up upon one of the Cabal warriors and shot an arrow at her.

The arrow hit the warrior in the back. She turned around and saw Varulva loading up another shot, upon which she charged at the lone huntress. Varulva managed to get off one arcane shot before she was forced to pull out her swords and fight up close. She let out a howl and let the felblood grant her fury before she tried and wing clip the Cabalist. The Cabalist parried. Varulva could see the bloodthirst in the eyes of her adversary, this would be a fight to the death, and even though her opponent was had 2 arrows poking out of her she was still a vicious fighter. Varulva knew everything about this, after all she was female too. You didn't corner a female orc unless you were in superior numbers, you just didn't. Still she had been with her back against a wall countless times because some stupid Alliance kid thought he could beat her. It has always been the last thing he did. Or tried, if she was to be completely honest. But now she was up against another orc, a female, which meant she hadn't the same bulk as a male, but still a fierce fighter, especially with arrows poking out of her. An angry male was bad enough, but an angry female... Well, Varulva was angry too, her fury fueled by the blood fury.

The Cabalist struck with her own swords. She was holding one in each hand, just like Varulva, which meant both of them had to watch either side. Varulva called on Lakris, who promptly joined the fight. This was a real fight, orc against orc, so chances were higher than usual that she wouldn't survive this. But she had to do it, this was the Shadow Council, practicioners of fel magic, an abomination. Calling upon the aid of the spirits, Varulva took on the aspect of the monkey. She could immediately feel that her eyesight got less sharp, but on the other hand her anticipation of her opponent's attacks increased. She tried a raptor strike, this time hitting the Cabalist hard. But she kept on fighting, which was the fun of it. Orcs fought to the death, anything else was a sign of weakness. She dodged her opponent's next strike and struck back with a mongoose bite, hurting the Cabalist even more. Another wing clip and she was too crippled to move. She fell over and gave Varulva a baleful stare. Varulva didn't care though. The poor girl had it coming. She put an arrow to her bow and finished off the wretched creature that lay on the ground.

The blood fury released its grip on Varulva and she summoned Winterstorm again. Riding further westwards she finally reached the edge of the Bone Wastes, seeing trees again. From here she just had to follow the road, and she would be in Nagrand, the ancestral home of the Warchief. The spirits would lead the way, as they always did, warning her of dangers, granting her exceptionally good sight, now that she had put on the aspect of the hawk again. She thanked the spirits for their aid, and immediately got filled with the joy only those with such a deep bond as she and her fellow hunters could feel when they were in the wilds. So she prodded her stout frostwolf further on, feeling the immersion. She knew every bump in the road, every leaf on the trees she passed, every straw of grass, every pebble, even Winterstorm. She was him, galloping along the old road towards the goal of his master. She could feel his strong muscles pushing him ever forward, swift as the wind. She cheered him onward, encouraging him, trying to use some of her own energy to help him keep up the pace, strengthening the bond between them. And before she knew it she was on the Low Path, leading northwards to the village of Garadar, where she again would be united with her own kin. Again she thanked the spirits of the wild for sharing their knowledge and wisdom with her, always leading her where she wanted to go.

As the road turned west she was met by 2 wolf riders. She couldn't be far away from Garadar now. Wolves meant orcs, orcs had always had a special bond to the canine predators, which was why she could immerse herself so much into Winterstorm, more than she could in any other beast. Something was wrong though. These orcs were brown, like the wolves they were riding. Apparently they had noticed her, because they were approaching her. "Throm'ka, stranger," the foremost of the two greeted her.
"Greetings," she responded. The riders stopped in front of her.
"Another greenskin," the foremost rider said.
"Yes," the other one said.
"These sure are strange days, when our lost brethren come back from their exodus to join us in battle," the first one continued. "Many of your kin have come to our aid lately, and you are no different I hope. Even though you're the first female greenskin we've seen yet. We were beginning to wonder if you had started popping out of holes in the ground!" They both laughed.
"You have my bow," Varulva replied. "I trust you don't see my gender as a hindrance."
"We don't," the foremost rider said. "My wife is patrolling the western road as we speak. May the spirits bless her."
"How long left until I reach Garadar?" Varulva asked.
"Just keep riding west," the foremost rider said. "You'll be there in good time before nightfall."

The rider was right. Varulva could see the top of an orcish tower not long after she parted with the riders. It was built in the same style as the towers in Stonebreaker Hold, the ancestral style of the orcs. Still the question of the brown orcs nagged her. What was this all about? She had been fighting the black-skinned orcs of the Blackrock Clan in Blackrock Spire and the plains of the Burning Steppes back on Azeroth, but she had never seen brown-skinned orcs before. The fact that they called her "greenskin" didn't help either. There had been something in their voice that tasted of disapproval.

Garadar was full of brown orcs. There were some green ones too, but they stood out more in their armour, the usual adventurer's outfit, than their skin colour. The riders had been right, she was the only female "greenskin" here, but on the other hand the place was flooded with females of the brown variety, many of them with children. She asked for the inn from one of them. "It's up on the central hill, you can't miss it, it's the biggest building behind these walls." She thanked for the directions and rode off. The inn was as she was used to, with a mailbox outside, and the typical orc nigth accommodation, a rug on the floor. There was even a flight master outside, to service the adventurers who came here. Clearly Garadar was the center of Horde activity here in Nagrand.

"Throm'ka, traveller," Matron Tikkit, the innkeeper greeted her.
"Good afternoon," Varulva responded. "I'm looking for shelter here in your bustling village."
"You will find poor shelter here," the Matron responded. "Especially from prying eyes."
"I don't ask for much," Varulva said. "And I'll make sure people keep their eyes to themselves."
The matron chuckled at that. "Spoken like a true orc. Each time I meet one of you greenskins I get more and more convinced that you're truly back on the right path."
"If you don't mind, please explain what this 'greenskin' business is all about."
"I mean no offence traveler, but are you really that ignorant of your past? Green skin is unnatural. It's the sign of corruption, of the orcs who drank the blood of Mannoroth, the ones who went through the Dark Portal."
Varulva was shocked. "I never drank the blood of Mannoroth. The pit lord is dead, slain by Grom Hellscream, freeing us from the pit lord's corrupting influence."
"I find that hard to believe, as it was Hellscream himself who was the first to drink the felblood. Just ask his son Garrosh at the fire down the hill. He has felt the burden of his father's misdeed more than anybody."
"So Hellscream has a son here in Outland," Varulva said. "I must speak to him." So she left the inn, and walked to the big bonfire at the center of the village.

"Lok'tar, son of Hellscream," Varulva greeted Garrosh.
"There is no victory," Garrosh replied. "The Greatmother is dying, don't you see that? And when she does... when she does..." He could hardly contain his tears. "... it's over. The bloodlust will take hold of me, just like it did my father."
"That's not true," Varulva said sternly. "Grom Hellscream is one of the greatest heroes of the Horde, the Warchief even named hi stronghold after your father!"
"To you greenskins he might be a hero," Garrosh replied in a depressed manner. "Now go away, you're just like your fellow adventurers. Don't you see? It's hopeless." There were no anger in his words, just a deep sadness.
"You'd better do as he says," one of the shaman standing at the fire said. "There's nothing you can do."

Varulva was shocked at this. Was this really the son of Hellscream? It couldn't be, yet everybody claimed he was. In her anger she was beckoned over by a tauren. He told her about a dwarf named Hemet Nesingwary, a renowned hunter who had taken camp to the east of Garadar. Varulva got interested immeidately. She had hunted with Nesingwary before in Stranglethorn Vale, and she was positively surprised that the dwarf had taken up camp here in Outland. She told the tauren she would look for him in the morning.

Back at the inn Varulva had a long conversation with the matron. The matron told her about the invasion of the ogres and the Murkblood Broken. The ogres had been the enemies of the Mag'har, as the brown orcs named themselves, but the Murkblood were new enemies. Garadar was the only orc village left in Nagrand, surrounded by its enemies on almost all sides. Because of this the village was filled with refugees from the other villages, which explained why there was such a big overweight of females. This puzzled Varulva. Why hadn't they stayed to fight? "Clearly you've childless," the matron had responded to that. "If you had children of your own you wouldn't have stayed and fought to the death. No, you would run away to a place you could keep your children safe. What good would it do to sacrifice yourself for your young? They'd be slaughtered in the same instant you lay dead in front of them. I can imagine that their husbands were holding off the ogres or the Murkblood so that the females could escape with the children. Laying down your life after that would be doing their husbands a huge dishonour."
"I understand," Varulva said to that.
"You've seen too much war, hunter," the matron replied. "We all have. But if we orcs are to survive we have to think of the children first. We owe it to them to let them grow up to a world without this mindless slaughter. But I fear we will be overrun nevertheless. You greenskins and your strange allies came in the nick of time. You can turn the tide! You've given me hope, Varulva. You and your brothers in arms. Now if just Garrosh would lighten up we would be safe for sure. I thank you for your help, hunter."
"I'm just doing my duty," Varulva answered.
"You shouldn't have to do it. A young female like you should be dancing around the fire trying to attract a husband and have a family, not run around fighting ogres."
"And the males should be looking at me. But what do they do? Run around fighting ogres! Why should I be excluded from that just because I'm female? Family can wait until I can be sure my children will grow up without war."
"You're right," the matron sighed. "We need all the hands we can get. And you will be able to tell your young about your deeds, inspiring them to become strong and brave, just like you."
"That's right," Varulva said. "That's damn right. But now I need a place to sleep."
"Of course. I might not be out there swinging my axe with you, but I do realize the my worth. Someone has to provide for our warriors."
"That's entirely correct. You're doing me a great honour letting me sleep in your dwelling."
"The honour is on my side. Now go sleep, hunter, and may your days be long."

So Varulva went to sleep on the hard floor. This was no soft elven bed, this was what made orcs into what they were, tough and sturdy. She spent some time thinking about what the matron had said. She really wanted to do that, dance around the fire, hoping some male would find her attractive and start courting her. But not this time. There was a war to be fought, she could worry about raising young when it was over.
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Garadar was teeming with life. All the refugees from all the other orc villages in Nagrand made it hard to find a quiet spot for herself. This was fine with Varulva, as she didn't like being in crowds anyway, at least not for long. Most of them looked very poor but at least they had the dignity to not beg like the vagrants in Shattrath did. That was the problem with humans, they got no honour.

Following the tauren's advice she rode eastwards, looking for Hemet Nesingwary. His camp wasn't hard to spot, there was a huge pillar of smoke billowing from it. As she got closer she saw the source of the smoke: a crashed flying machine which a Forsaken was trying to repair. Dang engineers. Not that she should complain, she was one herself.

Nesingwary noted here at once. "Good day lass, me recall seein' ye before!"
"That's right Hemet, I see you've traveled to Outland as well."
"That be correct my green lady, a master hunter like meself always goes where the big hunt is. We are just about tah go out on today's trip, wanna come?"
"I would love to," Varulva said and patted the dwarf on the head. If he didn't like it he made no sign to show it.

Nagrand was teeming with wild beasts to hunt. They spent the whole day stalking clefthooves, windrocs and talbuks. "Ye be a better huntress than when I met you in Stranglethorn Vale, lass", Nesingwary commented. "Much better, I would'n' like being on the wrong end o'that bow you got."
"Technically you are," Varulva replied jokingly.
"Dunno why," Nesingwary said and went back to aiming his gun at the nearest windroc. "These buggers sure got sharp beaks."
Varulva knew all too well why the Horde and the Alliance didn't like each other. Maybe some day the thirst for revenge would disappear and she could stop worrying about whether there was an elf behind that bush over there. Well, if there was an elf it could be a blood elf, which meant it was an ally, so there might be some good in it, but still...

"That's Tusker over there," Nesingwary explained as he pointed at the great elekk standing on top of a small outcrop. "She's the Queen of the Elekk, and I would absolut'ly love to bag meself her." So did Varulva, but not to hang her head over the fireplace, but to prove her strength. That elekk sure looked tough, and she wanted to beat it, to prove to herself, others, and most importantly, to the spirits that she was still a master of beasts. So she put an arrow to her bowstring and aimed while Nesingwary and the rest of his hunting party did the same. Like one they all fired at the big elekk, who trumpeted in pain before she came charging at them. Varulva quickly fired an arcane shot and a concussive shot to slow down the giant beast, but it still kept closing in, headed directly for her. She grinned. The spirits had taken her up on the challenge and made Tusker focus on her first. Which suited her fine, she feigned death. That should bring the beast on different thoughts. The problem was, it didn't. She cursed inwardly at herself, this wasn't a normal beast, this one was powered by the spirits, of course they wouldn't fall for such a cheap trick. She dodged the elekk as it almost trampled her, turned around, and got off another shot before it turned around and charged at her again, bleeding from several arrow and bullet wounds. "Ye go lass!" she heard Nesingwary shout at her. "We got her!" So she dodged again, buying enough time to get off another shot. Now she could do an arcane shot again as well, so she aimed between the eyes of the onrushing elekk. She hit the trunk instead. Another dodge. This time she would get it right. And she did, with an arrow placed nicely on the forehead. The elekk trumpeted one last time, and Tusker, Queen of the Elekk, collapsed on the ground.

The fight had gone out of Tusker. She was still alive, but didn't have the energy to keep fighting, she was beaten. Varulva walked up close to the big beast and it stared at her with a look of respect. Again she had bested what the spirits threw at her, and she had prevailed. She felt a warming feeling run through her. These were moments when she felt truly alive, after beating what the spirits sent against her to test her.
"Nice work, lass!" Nesingwary said while his party put Tusker out of her misery. "Here, take me rifle, you can put it to better use than me."
He held out his gun.
"No, I didn't do this for any material reward," Varulva replied.
"I insist," he urged her. "It has been an honour to hunt beside ye again, and I want ye to have this rifle to remember me."
Reluctantly she accepted. After all it was better than her old bow. Too bad guns made such dang noise all the time.

She was back in Garadar at nightfall, carrying huge slabs of clefthoof meat. That way she would prove her worth to the Mag'har much better than with any coin she had. It was happily accepted, as there would be feast that night, celebrating the "long lost brethren" who had returned. She didn't want to miss that for one second. First of all it was good eating, secondly she would get to know people and get known herself.

While the meat was being roasted she nursed her ale, taking a swing every now and then, not really chatting much. She loved feasts for the good food, but she wasn't really a socializer. Being the first "long lost sister" to return to Nagrand gave her lots of attention though, so she didn't have much time for herself. The locals wanted to hear about her great battles, and she told willingly, getting lots of "ooh"s and "aah"s. After all she had been fighting ever since she came of age and passed the Valley of Trials. This gained her huge respect, topped off by the fact she had shared the fruits of her hunt with the tribe. But she did feel a little bad for getting all this attention just because she was female, and said so. "Don't you worry," the 'greenskin' to her left said to that. "Not everybody could defeat the firelord Ragnaros, you deserve all the respect you get and more, your gender has nothing to do with it."
"If you say so..." she mumbled.
"Hey girl, enjoy the party, we're going ogre hunting in the morning, you wanna join?" he continued.
"Well, of course!" she shouted. "Woe to the ogre who dares stand in my way!"
"That's a good girl, now eat, the food is ready."

Huge trays of roast clefthoof were being born to the table, dripping with fat. Yes, this would sure be good eating. "For the Horde!" she shouted and lifted her mug high in the air.
"For the Horde!" everybody seated at the table shouted in unison and did the same. She sat down again and carved herself a huge slab of meat. "Now to see how this thing tastes..." She bit over a huge chunk and tore it off with her teeth, chewing hard. It was quite good actually, and greasy. Around her people cheered.
"Now that's a female with appetite," the male on her right chuckled. She didn't bother reply. She'd been hunting all day and was starved. Not to mention the fact that any orc needed healthy meals to stay strong, females no exception. If she was to hunt ogres the next day she needed to feed. She sunk her teeth into the slab of clefthoof meat again, savouring the fat dripping off her cheek before she tore off another large chunk. Not that it was very difficult with the fangs in her lower jaw, she loved using them that way. Thinking about this she envied the males for their bigger fangs, if she only had a copper for each time a male had called her fangs "tiny, but cute"... She always snarled back, which usually led to him calling her cute for, well, snarling like that. Some times you just couldn't win.

She cut off another slab of clefthoof meat and enjoyed the feast.
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