11-05-2006, 09:04 PM
For those of you who read chapters 1 and 2, I appreciate it and I hope you enjoyed them. It took some time to write chapters 3 and 4 because I had to collaborate with another who is a part of the story. Then, after writing to the approval of this other person, I had to edit chapter 4 to fit, as I had already written it. I hope you enjoy these next chapters as well!
The Last Stop
Vor'tok's feet carried him down a familiar path, a trail he had blazed over the past months that ran astray from the road. His mind, on the other hand, wandered a path that was becoming uncomfortably familiar. His thoughts were on the dream. He had never been a believer in signs. The abnormal behavioral patterns of animals and the way a crack ran down the blade of an axe did not mean the same things to him as they would his hunter and warrior brothers. In fact, all a cracked blade meant to him was the gold he would have to spend to repair it and he was not sure he had ever noticed abnormal behaviors in beasts or any type of behavioral pattern in animals at all. He was a shaman; he listened to the elements, respected the elements, and used the elements in battle. Perhaps an older and wiser shaman would know better, but Vor was young and naive and continued on ignoring the superstitions of his fellow orcs. However, for as young and naive as Vor may have been, he knew dreams were laced with mysticism, and this dream haunted him.
He had been walking all morning and afternoon. It was near evening, the hottest part of the day was over and he was grateful for it. He was even more grateful for the ointment he had gathered before he had left. Not only did it seem to work, but the fact that it had cured him of his chest pains gave him reassurance that the pains had nothing to do with the dream. No, he must have just injured himself falling over, or swinging an imaginary mace, or whatever he may have been doing while he had been sleep walking. Finally he came to the watch tower outside Razor Hill. It stood on a cliff high above the small town. Usually he would stop there and chat with the grunts while secretly using the tower to scout out what mesa he would like to conquer. There was no need for that now as he knew which one was going to be the challenge now, the tallest plateau in Durotar. Some said it was higher than Thunder Bluff, others, mostly tauren, scoffed at the thought. Of course all the mesas in Durotar were red, but the shear size of this one earned its name, "The" Red Mesa. Besides, it was growing later and later and he wanted to reach his destination before sundown. The last stop he would make before setting out to The Red Mesa, standing alone high above the rest.
He continued heading south of the tower and before too long he saw his destination; a small house just to the west of Razor Hill. He could also see the one he was coming to visit, working piously in what she liked to think of as a garden. He managed to approach undected.
"Throm'ka, Exa'day!" he shouted as he came as close as he thought he could and still remain unnoticed.
Startled, she responded, "Vor! I told you not to do that anymore!" Then, looking around, she continued, "No armor, no weapons, no wolf... you're out here climbing again?"
"Swo'bu." was his casual response, he would spare her the details of why he had felt the need to walk, as he usually did. "You seem distressed."
"I don't understand it!" she scowled, staring at the place she had been tilling, "I can heal any injury brought before me, but I can't get this silly garden to grow!"
Vor chuckled, "Well, Exa, you're a shaman, not a druid!" His good humor was cut short by her glare. "What I meant was..." he hesitated to think, for he really meant nothing more than what he had said, "well... this is the very nature of the land in Durotar. The earth is not wounded here. Therefore..." he thought some more, as she was still glaring at him, "... it's not an injury in the element you're trying to heal, but the very nature of the element itself that you're trying to change." He stopped, looking at her as she glared at him, wondering if that was satisfactory or if he was going to get clubbed by the hoe she had been tilling with and still held.
After a moment she shrugged, dropping the gardening tool, "Perhaps. Come on in, there's bread rising in the kiln for you right now."
"For me? You knew I was coming?" he smirked, knowingly. Not catching the humor, she merely sighed at him, "When do I not have a meal prepared and awaiting you?" Then, throwing back the rug used as a door, she welcomed him in.
Exa'day's bread, for not being meat, really was the best food Vor had ever tasted and he was always sure to let her know by eating several loaves of it each time he visited. Not that it was unusual for orc males to eat large portions, just unusual for them to have such a taste for anything but meat. "Give me your bag, Vor." Exa'day said as Vor'tok was finishing his third helping of stew and second loaf of bread, "I'll wrap this last loaf for you to take tomorrow." He grimaced as she stuffed some turnips in the bag with the bread, but quickly changed it to a smile and a nod for "thank you." He knew Exa'day was proud of her turnips, as they were the only things she had managed to grow in her garden thus far.
After dinner, they went outside and sat on the ground, backs against her house, heads tilted to the night sky. They sat together for most of the night with a little scattered conversation, all small talk, all small talk, just enjoying being in each others company.
"So when will you be back, Vor?" she asked as the sun began to rise.
"A week. Two weeks maybe. Not long. I'll stop by here again before returning to Orgrimmar." he assured her. He gathered his gear then, hugged her goodbye, and set off.
The Last Stop
Vor'tok's feet carried him down a familiar path, a trail he had blazed over the past months that ran astray from the road. His mind, on the other hand, wandered a path that was becoming uncomfortably familiar. His thoughts were on the dream. He had never been a believer in signs. The abnormal behavioral patterns of animals and the way a crack ran down the blade of an axe did not mean the same things to him as they would his hunter and warrior brothers. In fact, all a cracked blade meant to him was the gold he would have to spend to repair it and he was not sure he had ever noticed abnormal behaviors in beasts or any type of behavioral pattern in animals at all. He was a shaman; he listened to the elements, respected the elements, and used the elements in battle. Perhaps an older and wiser shaman would know better, but Vor was young and naive and continued on ignoring the superstitions of his fellow orcs. However, for as young and naive as Vor may have been, he knew dreams were laced with mysticism, and this dream haunted him.
He had been walking all morning and afternoon. It was near evening, the hottest part of the day was over and he was grateful for it. He was even more grateful for the ointment he had gathered before he had left. Not only did it seem to work, but the fact that it had cured him of his chest pains gave him reassurance that the pains had nothing to do with the dream. No, he must have just injured himself falling over, or swinging an imaginary mace, or whatever he may have been doing while he had been sleep walking. Finally he came to the watch tower outside Razor Hill. It stood on a cliff high above the small town. Usually he would stop there and chat with the grunts while secretly using the tower to scout out what mesa he would like to conquer. There was no need for that now as he knew which one was going to be the challenge now, the tallest plateau in Durotar. Some said it was higher than Thunder Bluff, others, mostly tauren, scoffed at the thought. Of course all the mesas in Durotar were red, but the shear size of this one earned its name, "The" Red Mesa. Besides, it was growing later and later and he wanted to reach his destination before sundown. The last stop he would make before setting out to The Red Mesa, standing alone high above the rest.
He continued heading south of the tower and before too long he saw his destination; a small house just to the west of Razor Hill. He could also see the one he was coming to visit, working piously in what she liked to think of as a garden. He managed to approach undected.
"Throm'ka, Exa'day!" he shouted as he came as close as he thought he could and still remain unnoticed.
Startled, she responded, "Vor! I told you not to do that anymore!" Then, looking around, she continued, "No armor, no weapons, no wolf... you're out here climbing again?"
"Swo'bu." was his casual response, he would spare her the details of why he had felt the need to walk, as he usually did. "You seem distressed."
"I don't understand it!" she scowled, staring at the place she had been tilling, "I can heal any injury brought before me, but I can't get this silly garden to grow!"
Vor chuckled, "Well, Exa, you're a shaman, not a druid!" His good humor was cut short by her glare. "What I meant was..." he hesitated to think, for he really meant nothing more than what he had said, "well... this is the very nature of the land in Durotar. The earth is not wounded here. Therefore..." he thought some more, as she was still glaring at him, "... it's not an injury in the element you're trying to heal, but the very nature of the element itself that you're trying to change." He stopped, looking at her as she glared at him, wondering if that was satisfactory or if he was going to get clubbed by the hoe she had been tilling with and still held.
After a moment she shrugged, dropping the gardening tool, "Perhaps. Come on in, there's bread rising in the kiln for you right now."
"For me? You knew I was coming?" he smirked, knowingly. Not catching the humor, she merely sighed at him, "When do I not have a meal prepared and awaiting you?" Then, throwing back the rug used as a door, she welcomed him in.
Exa'day's bread, for not being meat, really was the best food Vor had ever tasted and he was always sure to let her know by eating several loaves of it each time he visited. Not that it was unusual for orc males to eat large portions, just unusual for them to have such a taste for anything but meat. "Give me your bag, Vor." Exa'day said as Vor'tok was finishing his third helping of stew and second loaf of bread, "I'll wrap this last loaf for you to take tomorrow." He grimaced as she stuffed some turnips in the bag with the bread, but quickly changed it to a smile and a nod for "thank you." He knew Exa'day was proud of her turnips, as they were the only things she had managed to grow in her garden thus far.
After dinner, they went outside and sat on the ground, backs against her house, heads tilted to the night sky. They sat together for most of the night with a little scattered conversation, all small talk, all small talk, just enjoying being in each others company.
"So when will you be back, Vor?" she asked as the sun began to rise.
"A week. Two weeks maybe. Not long. I'll stop by here again before returning to Orgrimmar." he assured her. He gathered his gear then, hugged her goodbye, and set off.